Tears of a Warrior
by Stahlfan125
Summary: (Sequel to "Sister of Guinevere" and "Lancelot and Fuliciana) COMPLETE! Chapter 26: The end!
1. Trailer

Sorry about the lack of updates on Lancelot and Fuliciana. I'm kind of stuck on where to start off with the next chapter! So, I reposted the trailer under the Tears of a Warrior name for people who haven't read my other stories. (which I've dubbed 'Fuli's Saga' for some reason)

So, if you haven't read my other stories, I highly suggest that you do, or you will be slightly confused reading this trailer. Or, you can read and hope you understand.

This is basically to show my four loyal fans that I didn't die of exhaustion just yet. (2 and 0! Whoo! Or 0 and 2. I don't know which way it goes, but...whatever. Red Sox are winning!)

Enjoy! (Again, for most of you)

* * *

**Trailer:**

_(Screen is black. Fades in on Arthur and Guinevere's wedding.)_

**Merlin (V.O.): **A unity was forged.

_(Guinevere and Arthur kiss)_

**Merlin (V.O.): **A love was bred.

_(Arthur fights at Badon Hill)_

**Merlin (V.O.): **And a legend was born.

_(Arthur stands at night on the wall of the fort, looking out to the distance.)_

**Merlin (V.O.): **But the threat...

_(Shot of Saxons marching through the woods)_

**Merlin (V.O.): **...had not been eliminated.

_(Random shots of fighting. Cut to a young blonde woman (**A/N**: Miranda Otto is who I see her as) walking with Guinevere.)_

**Blonde Woman: **He made us a promise. He said he would return, but he did not.

_(Lancelot kisses Fuliciana passionately. Cut to a shot of Lancelot with his arms around Fuliciana, protecting her as she weeps.)_

**Fuliciana: **I would forgive you any wrong.

_(Random shot of Fuliciana and Lancelot 'Going at it')_

**Fuliciana: **Just do not leave me in the dark again.

_(Cut to Fuliciana standing and staring at a brown haired woman.)_

**Fuliciana: **What is your name?

**Woman: **Elaine.

_(Cut to Guinevere and the blonde woman from before, walking through a hall.)_

**Guinevere: **Your brother is a brave man.

_(Arthur stands by the woods, yelling in fury and hatred. Cut to blonde woman holding a sword awkwardly, as Fuliciana watches, shaking her head slowly in obvious digust. Screen fades to black.)_

**Arthur(shouting): **Why have you taken what I hold so dear?

_(Cut to Fuliciana running through the woods madly, followed by a horde of Woads. Cut to Galahad embracing Fuliciana as she weeps. Fade to black.)_

**Galahad: **Did you think I would let you go out there without me by your side?

_(Random shots of fighting in the woods; Fuliciana stumbles and falls, wounded, to the ground, hidden by the under brush; The blonde woman runs through the woods frantically. Arthur, Fuliciana, Guinevere, and Galahad stand on the wall, watching something below with anger in their faces; Arthur and Lancelot fight Saxons.)_

_(**Words on the screen: **After I finally finish my revisions...)_

_(Cut to: Lancelot stabbing a Saxon mercilessly.)_

_(**Words on the screen: **And after I write my Lancelot point of view...)_

_(Arthur and Guinevere kiss, both of them with tears running down their faces.)_

_(**Words on the screen: **Tears of a Warrior.)_

**Voiceover announcer: **Rated PG-13 for violence, mild language, and some non-graphic adult content.

* * *

Well, there it is! Hope you enjoyed. Now, back to working on Lancelot and Fuliciana. I really have to stop stalling! 


	2. Prologue: The Dreams

Here's the prologue to _Tears of a Warrior_, the sequel to _Sister of Guinevere_ and _Lancelot and Fuliciana. _Though I'm still working on _Lancelot and Fuliciana, _I decided to write this (while I was working on Chapter 12 of LanceFul) and post a chapter to explain some of the questions that you reviewers had as to why Tristan wasn't trying to get in on some Fuliciana action too. Hope you enjoy! More to come soon! (Hopefully)

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**Prologue: **The Dreams

Lancelot stood in front of the grave, shivering in the cold night air. Another night had come, and another dream had come with it. He sighed and seated himself, staring at the sword that stuck out of the burial mound. Below the sword were a carving of a wooden hawk, and a lock of brown hair. He did not have to wonder long who that lock of hair was from.

"Why, Tristan?" he murmured questioningly to the carving of the hawk, as if Tristan's spirit resided there. "Why the dreams?"

The cold wind sprung up as if in answer, and Lancelot closed his eyes, the memory of the dream still fresh in his mind...

* * *

_It was almost as if Tristan had never left. His scent filled the room, and Lancelot could hear him approaching the bed where he slept. His eyes cracked open, and he stared at his former companion. _

_"Tristan," he said simply. Tristan nodded, his hands clasped behind his back. _

_"Lancelot," he said in return, smiling slightly. He moved closer, and his hand gently rested on Fuliciana's cheek. "She loves you, you know," he murmured quietly. "She loves you more than you could ever know."_

_"And I love her as well," Lancelot replied, still not sure of how to feel about Tristan's presence. _

_"As do I," Tristan remarked with a sigh. Lancelot's eyebrows rose in shock. Tristan laughed; a hollow, soulless sound. "Do not act so surprised, Lancelot. You knew of it."_

_"Yes, I suspected," Lancelot said, shrugging. "But I never thought you'd admit to it."_

_"Well, what harm can it do me?" Tristan asked, grinning slightly. "I roam the green fields of this land now. Remember."_

_"How could I forget?" Lancelot asked. Tristan laughed humorlessly and seated himself on the edge of the bed. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of Fuliciana's hair out of her face. Lancelot was beginning to feel slightly jealous at the way Tristan kept touching his sleeping lover. _

_"I loved her," Tristan murmured, almost to herself. "But she never could have been happy with me. I am...too cold, too distant."_

_Lancelot knew what was next, and he felt a great pain seize his chest. _

_"Tristan..." he began, shaking his head. Tristan looked up at him, and Lancelot was surprised to see the grief in his eyes. _

_"I loved her," Tristan said, stronger this time. "And I let her go."_

_Lancelot looked at the ground. He was suddenly immeasurably angry with Tristan. _

_"Why do you tell me this?" he asked, jumping out of his bed and turning to face Tristan, not caring that he had no clothes whatsoever on. "Why? Does it give you satisfaction to know that I am aware that you could have had Fuliciana at any moment you wished? For she would have gone with you, willingly, in the beginning."_

_"And I would have made her miserable!" Tristan exclaimed, standing up. "She could never have been happy with me, which was why I did not let my feelings be known. Lancelot, I do not wish to cause you pain." Lancelot was surprised at how emotional the man was getting. He had never before heard the pleading, desperate tone in Tristan's voice that he was hearing now. In death, Tristan was so much more animated than in life. The irony, however, was lost on both of them. _

_"Then why do you tell me this? Why?"_

_Tristan stared at Lancelot, and closed his eyes, drawing in a great, painful breath. _

_"Because," he said through clenched teeth. "Because I would not have you take her for granted."_

_Lancelot paused and looked at Tristan, tilting his head to one side in confusion. _

_"Goodbye, Lancelot," Tristan said sadly, and he turned to go. _

_"Wait!" Lancelot exclaimed, but Tristan was melting away before his eyes; disintegrating. "Tristan!"_

_But Tristan was gone, and Lancelot stood alone in the room._

* * *

Lancelot sighed and hung his head, a tear leaking out of the corner of his eye. He sighed, saddened, as he head the cry of a hawk somewhere far off. He wondered if it was the bird that had accompanied Tristan for all those years.

"Why the dreams?" he asked again, his voice broken. He did not want to sleep. He did not want to hear Tristan's voice again, haunting him, telling him these things he did not want to hear. He did not want Tristan to disappear, reminding him that he would never again see his friend or Dagonet in the flesh again. _He did not want those damned dreams. _

He began to sob, his body taking control of his stubborn pride. Over and over again he muttered his fallen friend's name.

"Why, Tristan?" he whispered into the dark, when the sobs had faded to hiccups and his fists angrily swiped at his tears.

Suddenly, warm arms snaked around his neck, and her chin rested on his shoulder, her scent filling his nostrils and causing him to shiver. Her body melded with his, and she kissed his cheek gently, resting her cheek between his shoulder and neck. He tried to look away so she could not see his tears, but she just pulled him around to face her, and her lips gently kissed away the salty moisture.

"He haunts you," she whispered, her hands on his strong forearms, her head tilted to the side and turned upwards towards his. "He haunts _us_."

Lancelot looked at her questioningly, and she nodded. Lancelot flushed angrily at the thought of what Tristan might have said to her or done to her in her dreams.

"He loved you," he whispered brokenly, and Fuliciana was overcome with tenderness. Her hand raised up and she placed it on his cheek.

"Lancelot," she cooed affectionately. "He loved me, yes, but I did not love him."

Lancelot looked down at her, so desperate to believe her, yet unable to rule out the possibility that she may have considered Tristan over himself.

"Lancelot," Fuliciana began. "I love you, and only you. There will never be another."

Lancelot nodded and he wrapped his arms around her slim waist, pulling her close to him and smelling the familiar, intoxicating scent of her hair.

"I love you, Fuliciana," he murmured. "Thank you."

"There is no need for thanks," Fuliciana whispered playfully into his ear. "I do it of my own selfish desires."

Lancelot grinned as Fuliciana took his hand and tugged him back towards the castle. He could only imagine what awaited him.

* * *

Miles away, a young girl mounted her brown mare, looking forlornly at the people surrounding her.

"Do not worry," she murmured softly. "I will return...with him."

Her mother nodded sadly, and Vilensia could see the doubt in her eyes. He had told them that he would return, but he did not. She did not hold as much hope as her young daughter did.

"Are you ready?" Vilensia asked her escort, Trabahn. He nodded wordlessly, and the two set off, galloping into the distance. Once again, a sad mother watched her child ride off to certain death, and she was unable to do anything about it.

* * *

As Lancelot and Fuliciana made their way back to their room, giggling and whispering promises to one another, a single woman stood in the middle of the courtyard, watching them. Her face hardened with anger, and she spat on the ground, muttering a curse to herself.

Before that Woad beast had come along, she had been Lancelot's favorite. She felt cast to the side; useless. Though the many other women he had slept with did not hold it against Fuliciana, this particular woman did. And as she stood there watching the two of them, she swore that she'd have him back.


	3. Suspicions and a Game In the Snow

Here it is at last! Chapter 1 of Tears of a Warrior!

This chapter is really fluffy and light, and pretty senseless once I think about it. This is for all of you who love fluff. Be warned, though, _much_ more serious stuff ahead. Like..._really serious stuff._ That's all I'm going to say now.

Argh, I still have **Alexander **on the brain. All I can think of is Jared Leto and Colin Farrell! (Especially Jared Leto. Yum! It might have something to do with the fact that I'm listening to his band's CD over and over again!) If only I had the script, I'd be writing a one-shot right now!

One more thing: Everyone might seem a bit out of character here, though I'm not really sure. I just wanted to make the point that they're happy and content and there's nothing wrong with their lives at the moment.

That said; please review! Individual reviews will return! I shall end my lazy streak!

Syerri, where have you gone? I miss you terribly!

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**Chapter 1: **Suspicions and a Game in the Snow 

Guinevere and Fuliciana stood upon the wall, looking out at the sunset with peaceful expressions on their faces. Several woad women were gathered near the tree line, talking joyfully to one another.

"Are you happy?" Guinevere asked suddenly, orange-red shadows dancing across her face as she turned her head to face Fuliciana. She drew her cloak tighter around her, shivering in the cold winter air.

"Of course," Fuliciana replied, smiling brightly at Guinevere, tilting her head to one side in question. "Why? Are you not?"

Guinevere sighed again and looked back out at the sunset. There were not words to describe her happiness, and yet…she could not help the feeling of discontentment that seemed to grow in her whenever she was around Fuliciana. She wasn't sure if she had made all the right choices for her sister. It was like being a mother, only her daughter was a scant few years younger than her.

"No," she said, smiling as she stared vacantly out at the brilliant display of red and gold that shone before her. "I am very happy." She sighed and turned to look at her sister, sadness in her gaze. "But I wonder if I made the right choice in allowing Lancelot to pursue you."

Fuliciana laughed, throwing her head back in the way that Guinevere knew Lancelot so loved. The man loved every bit of her…at least, he claimed to.

"Guinevere," Fuliciana said with a chuckle. "Lancelot would have 'pursued me' no matter what you'd have said to discourage him." She suddenly took on a more serious tone. "But why are you worried?"

Guinevere looked at Fuliciana knowingly, her eyes boring deep into Fuliciana's. For the first time, Guinevere saw the wide-eyed innocence in her gaze, and it gave her a lump in her throat.

"Lancelot has a wandering eye," she said, as if she were explaining to a child. Fuliciana frowned at her disapprovingly.

"_Had,"_ she said firmly. "Lancelot _had _a wandering eye. Before he met me…"

The confidence with which she said that would have been enough to satisfy the casual observer. But Guinevere was no casual observer. She could detect the tiniest bit if insecurity in Fuliciana's declaration, and she heaved another great sigh. She did not enjoy hurting her sister, but she felt as if it was something that she had to do.

"So he says," she said softly, almost mumbling her words. "Fuliciana, he is a _very _handsome man. Women _adore _him. What makes you think he is impervious to temptation?"

"He's not," Fuliciana said with a laugh. "No man is or ever was. Even Arthur might one day let his wall down, and he might be tempted to do something that he might later regret. It's doubtful, but it could happen. Now, Lancelot's the same way. He may be a good-looking man, but what's he going to do when he insists on having me with him always? Guinevere, we're very much in love. _Nothing _will come between us."

"Can you be sure?" Guinevere asked, pressing onward when someone else would know to leave well enough alone. Fuliciana looked at her with a face full of hurt and betrayal, but Guinevere hardly noticed.

"Guinevere," she said tiredly, looking up at her sister with a face set in determination. "Do you know something that I do not?"

"No," Guinevere said with just as much weariness. "I do not. I am only…concerned for you, as a good sister should be."

Fuliciana stood, silently, looking out to the sunset as if trying to get answers from it. Guinevere had planted the seed of doubt, which was exactly what she had wanted. But then, as she looked at Fuliciana harder, and saw the odd vacancy in her eyes, she felt like a fool. The seed of doubt didn't need to be planted. The seed of doubt had probably always been there. Guinevere hadn't planted it. She'd watered it.

"Fuliciana…" she started to say, but she was cut off by a sharp yell from somewhere behind them, towards the fortress. Both women spun around, ready for trouble, but then immediately burst into laughter at what they saw.

Bors was charging through the snow after Galahad and Gawain, who were both laughing like young boys.

"Come back here you cowards!" Bors roared, wiping the snow off his face and neck. "Face me like men!"

"You _are _always calling me a child!" Galahad yelled over his shoulder as he and Gawain continued running.

"True enough," Gawain agreed. Bors roared and ran faster through the snow to catch up with the two troublemakers.

Suddenly, Arthur and Lancelot sprung out of nowhere from behind a large pile of snow, pummeling the three unsuspecting knights with an armful of snowballs each. Bors roared again and yelled at Galahad and Gawain to get behind a pile of snow that was conveniently located directly across from the one inhabited by Lancelot and Arthur.

Guinevere laughed and shook her head, watching her husband with a surprising fondness.

"You'd think they were children," she remarked lightly. "And we their mothers."

Fuliciana only laughed and leaned over the wall, her chin in her hands as she watched the two teams huddled behind the piles of snow, whispering a conference to one another.

"Fuliciana! Guinevere!" cried out Lancelot when he saw them standing upon the wall. "Come on! We need you two down here!"

Fuliciana laughed and started down the stairs. Guinevere shook her head, folding her arms across her chest.

"No thank you," she replied, suddenly feeling very _old_. "I'd rather watch."

Fuliciana stopped and turned back at her words, crestfallen.

"You don't want to play?" she asked, and Guinevere nearly laughed at the childlike innocence in those words. Fuliciana was no child. She had experienced many hardships. How, then, did she manage to retain the aura of a child, while Guinevere ended up looking like an old maid?

"No," Guinevere said with a chuckle. "I haven't been feeling well lately. You go on."

"Come on!" Arthur cried, holding his arms up to his wife with uncharacteristic joy. "Guinevere, you must play!"

Guinevere shook her head and leaned on the wall, looking down at Arthur and reveling in the smile that was on his face. He did not smile often. To see him smile was a magnificent treat.

"No, my king," she said. "Besides, if I were to join, then the sides would be uneven!"

Arthur laughed, throwing his head back, his arms still outstretched.

"No one cares about the sides!" he exclaimed, Guinevere hardly recognized him. He was laughing, smiling, playing in the snow like a small boy alongside his knights. She smiled and decided not to remark on his very un-kingly behavior. When he was this happy, she couldn't care that he was making a spectacle.

"No," she said simply.

"Are you certain?" Arthur asked, looking worried for her. He started to move towards her, but Guinevere held up a hand.

"I'm fine, my husband," she said with a smile. "I'm fine. Play. Please."

"Come on, Guinevere!" Lancelot exclaimed, his arms wrapping around Fuliciana's waist from behind as she reached them. He stood up on top of the snow pile. "Where's the fun in watching?"

Bors saw this as the perfect opportunity to attack. He lunged forward, throwing a snowball at Lancelot with all his might. It flew across the open space between the two fortresses and struck Lancelot in the face. Lancelot fell onto his back in the snow, and everyone laughed.

"_There _is the fun in watching, Lancelot," said Guinevere calmly, not able to help a small laugh. "I had the perfect view."

Lancelot laughed and shrugged, muttering something to Arthur. Guinevere didn't catch it, but she knew it was something along the lines of 'she's fine, leave her' or 'ah, well, who needs her?' Knowing Lancelot, it could have gone either way. Fuliciana laughed and pulled Lancelot to his feet, kissing the snow from his beard.

Guinevere watched the entire fight. Arthur, Fuliciana, and Lancelot were an indomitable team, while the reluctant alliance of Galahad, Gawain, and Bors was being slowly defeated.

"Charge!" Arthur cried, leaping up from where he was crouching behind the pile of snow. Fuliciana and Lancelot followed him, carrying armfuls of snowballs and crying out a battle cry that was so ridiculous that Guinevere couldn't help but laugh.

Arthur threw himself over the pile of snow, tackling Bors to the ground in one smooth motion. Lancelot tackled Gawain, and Fuliciana promptly shoved an entire fistful of snow into Galahad's face before tossing him to the ground as well.

When the snow-dust had settled, Arthur, Lancelot, and Fuliciana stood atop the pile of snow that had, a few moments ago, been the enemy fortress.

"It was a battle hard won," Arthur explained to his queen, draping his arm across Fuliciana's shoulders on one side, and Lancelot's on the other. "But Arthur Castus has never been defeated in battle, and this one is no exception."

"Join us, and prosper," Fuliciana said with mock gravity to the defeated knights, who had been bound with strips of Lancelot's cloak. Bors spat at her feet.

"Never!" he growled fiercely. The four other knights were practically rolling on the ground with laugher at the seriousness that both the play-actors conveyed. Guinevere, despite her sour temper, had to struggle to keep her chuckles quiet.

"Never?" Fuliciana asked, arching one eyebrow. "And what of you?"

She pointed at Gawain and Galahad grimly, her eyebrows risen in question. The two friends exchanged a wordless glance, and then looked back at Fuliciana.

"Why not?" Galahad asked with a shrug.

"We've already been defeated," Gawain agreed.

"We'll join the winning side," Galahad continued.

"It's better than being put to death," Gawain finished.

Bors glowered angrily at both of his former teammates.

"Traitors!" he yelled angrily. "Fools! Cowards! How can you call yourselves knights?"

"Untie them," Fuliciana said calmly to her teammates. "And arm them. We're going to show this…pig who's the ruler of this land."

Bors stared at Fuliciana defiantly, his lip curling up in a sneer. Fuliciana grinned back, but it was not a friendly grin. Lancelot and Arthur, having finished untying Gawain and Galahad, stood behind her, their hands on her shoulders. Gawain and Galahad stood side-by-side, lumpy, hastily formed snowballs in their hands. Fuliciana turned to Arthur.

"You give the command, King Arthur," she said with all the pomp of a Roman noble. Arthur laughed and nodded to Gawain and Galahad, and they promptly began to throw snowballs at Bors's face. He yelled and rolled on the ground, but nothing could save him from the playful fury of the two friends.

"Dirty bastard!" Galahad yelled gleefully as he clipped Bors's ear with a rather large ball of snow.

Guinevere sighed and shook her head again. Eerily, the entire scene below was bathed in red thanks to the sunset casting shadows. She could only think of the battle, only a few months earlier, and she had to wonder how they could all smile and laugh after they had been through so much. She, herself, wasn't nearly over the time she had spent in Marius's dungeon.

"Untie me this instant!" Bors yelled as he struggled to stand. Galahad got him in the face with another snowball, and everyone assembled laughed heartily. It was clear, however, that they were all beginning to get cold. Fuliciana was shivering under her cloak, and Bors's face was turning red.

Guinevere turned and walked down the set of stairs, walking past the others unnoticed, as they were all too busy watching Bors squirm uncomfortably in his bindings. With one last, reluctant look back at the group, Guinevere moved towards the fortress, suddenly feeling very inexplicably sad.


	4. Saxons

Here it is: Chapter 2! I'm really excited for this sequel. REALLY, REALLY excited.

So, it gets a teensy bit darker in this chapter…though not especially. More dark stuff to come. I JUST realized how long this thing is going to be. It's going to be pretty long. I'm excited.

So, please review. I'd be happy if you did so!

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**Chapter 2**: Saxons

"You're freezing!" Guinevere cried to Fuliciana.

They were standing in Guinevere's quarters, and as Guinevere spoke, she was lighting a fire. Fuliciana blushed as if she had just been scolded.

"I'm sorry, Jenny," she said, using the pet name for the new queen. "It was just too fun. Why didn't you join us? You knew you were welcome, didn't you?"

Guinevere sighed and straightened, still facing the fire. She didn't dare turn and look at the hurt expression that would no doubt be on her dear sister's face.

"Yes," she said simply. "I knew."

"Then why didn't you join?"

"I wasn't feeling well."

Guinevere couldn't help the shortness that came out in her voice. She wanted to talk to Fuliciana about Lancelot.

"Are you with child?" Fuliciana asked, slightly apprehensive. Guinevere turned and saw Fuliciana standing behind her, her hands clutching her dress tightly. Guinevere smiled sadly and shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'm not."

"Then what is it? Does Arthur know? Is it…is it serious?"

Fuliciana looked so scared that Guinevere couldn't help a laugh. She shook her head and sat down on her bed, again noticing how old she felt, and how young Fuliciana seemed. She was so vibrant, so full of life. Why couldn't she bring herself to be like her beautiful sister? Why did she feel so old when she was barely a few years Fuliciana's senior?

"Fuliciana…I want to talk to you. About what we were discussing earlier."

Fuliciana's concerned expression grew blank with anger, and she stood up, looking at Guinevere with rage in her eyes.

"Guinevere, you made me worry for _that_?" she asked incredulously. "I already told you. I'm happy. Lancelot and I will marry in a few weeks time, and I will officially be the first knight's lady. Now, please, don't start this about Lancelot again. I am done discussing it!"

She looked at Guinevere for a few short moments, but it was clear that Guinevere wasn't going to say anything else, so she turned and walked out of the room with a straight-backed dignity that Guinevere couldn't help but admire despite her annoyance.

* * *

It was only a few moments later when Lancelot walked into Guinevere's quarters, face flushed red and an uncharacteristically happy smile on his face. Guinevere stood politely and Lancelot bowed to the ground formally.

"Hello, Jenny," he said, even his voice conveying happiness. "Where is your sister?"

"She's gone off somewhere," Guinevere replied vaguely. Lancelot's smile didn't fade.

"Where, do you know?" he asked. Guinevere kept her polite formality, standing with her chin only slightly raised.

"No," she said simply. Still, Lancelot remained naively happy.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, taking a few steps towards her and resting his hand on her shoulder. She smiled up at him as politely as she could.

"Yes," she said. "Much."

"Good," Lancelot said, sincerely relieved. "I'm happy you aren't ill."

"Oh, no," Guinevere said. "It was just a…bad feeling in my stomach."

Lancelot still smiled.

"Will you be joining us for dinner, then?" he asked. Guinevere nodded.

"I will," she replied.

"Ah, good," Lancelot said happily. "Then I will see you then. Right now, I have to find Fuliciana."

Guinevere nodded and smiled. Lancelot, though uneasy about some things that the queen had said, took this time as the best to leave, before things got any more formal. He was not a formal man, and was not used to the coldness radiating from the young woman.

He walked down the hallway quickly, feeling slightly foolish as he did so. Running from a woman who was less than half his height? Still, something wasn't right. Something felt odd. Maybe it was the way Guinevere looked at him with half-lidded eyes, as if watching him and waiting for him to do something wrong. Lancelot had never been any good at reading emotions, but he knew that there was something different about Guinevere on that night.

"Bloody…" he began, but he never finished. He saw Fuliciana's thin form walking down the hallway, and his face lit up as he jogged towards her. "Fuliciana!"

She whirled around to look at him, surprise written on every feature. When she saw that he was smiling, her face broke into a smile of relief.

"People have made it a habit today of frightening me," she remarked. Lancelot tilted his head to one side in a sign of confusion, but Fuliciana just shook her head. "Never mind," she said. "So, you're looking for me?"

"Yes, love, of course I am!" Lancelot exclaimed, kissing his lover passionately. A passerby might have thought that Lancelot had been away for many weeks, the way he was drinking from her lips as if dying of thirst.

"Lancelot!" Fuliciana exclaimed, leaning against him when the kiss was done. "You are certainly in a good mood this night."

"I am," Lancelot said with a chuckle. "What is there to worry about?"

"Saxons."

Lancelot turned to see who had uttered the word, though he knew already by the voice. Arthur stood there, his hands folded over his chest and his hair tousled and wet from the snow fight.

"Saxons?" Lancelot asked hesitantly. "But…we defeated them."

"Most of them," Arthur said pointedly. Lancelot and Fuliciana exchanged a glance, both of them thinking the same thing. Their last encounter with Saxons had almost separated them forever. They did not want another scare like that one.

"Are there…many?" Fuliciana asked fearfully. Arthur sighed and looked at the ground for a moment, thinking, before he raised his eyes and looked at her with the tenderness of an older brother.

"We don't know," he said. "We only know that there are enough to destroy a village and murder everyone in it."

"What?" Fuliciana asked incredulously. Lancelot slid an arm around Fuliciana's waist, his hold on her tight. "Which village?"

"Kamelort," Arthur said sadly. "The houses were burnt to the ground, and the bodies were horribly mutilated. It was the work of the Saxons."

Lancelot looked at Fuliciana to see what she was thinking. Her look was one of horror, and she was staring at Arthur as if she were a child who had just found out her father had been killed in battle.

"Do we have a great enough army to threaten them?" she asked nervously. It was common knowledge that Arthur and his knights were desperate for men. So desperate, in fact, that they had started to train young boys to become knights as well, starting as young as eight years old.

"Yes," Arthur said, though he didn't sound very confident. "I have spoken with your father, Fuliciana. He says that his Woads are ready for battle."

Fuliciana's face darkened at the mention of her father. Lancelot nodded in her direction knowingly. Though he had never learned the full extent of what had made Fuliciana hate her father so, he knew that it had something to do with her love for Lancelot himself. Lancelot _did _know that he had given the man the pronounced limp that he carried, meaning that Lancelot had brought the man pain and a great amount of shame and humiliation. It was a very awkward family situation.

"My father sometimes sees things in a confident light when he really, by all rights, shouldn't," Fuliciana pointed out, her eyes narrowing as she watched Arthur. "Did you check the men?"

"I will," Arthur promised. "But I honestly don't think that the Saxon army is large. Remember, they lost the battle. We lost a lot of men, but they lost an entire army that day."

"That's what I don't understand," Lancelot put in. "They had so many men. How is it possible that they had more? Where were these men? Were they in another part of the country?"

"It is possible," Arthur said. "Perhaps some survived the battle and made off into the woods. Perhaps more traveled over the seas. We don't know."

"We probably never will," Fuliciana remarked thoughtfully. "But it does not matter. All we need to think about is defeating them."

"And fast," Lancelot added. "Do the other villages know of the…problem?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "Many are evacuating their people here. Some are just going to be watching for trouble. Some haven't even made a move to defend themselves."

"Should we send men out there?" Fuliciana asked.

"No," Arthur says. "We will ride out tomorrow to investigate. A few of us."

"Us?" Lancelot asked with a pointed look in Fuliciana's direction. "She isn't going."

"Why not?" Arthur asked, grinning. "She outlasted you at Badon Hill, didn't she?"

Arthur said the words with a light enough tone, but Lancelot and Fuliciana both knew that mentioning the battle brought Arthur pain. Fuliciana in particular remembered the way he had wailed on the battlefield when he had thought Lancelot dead. She knew that Arthur would never again let Lancelot out of his sights during a battle, and that left her oddly comforted.

"She cannot go!" Lancelot exclaimed hurriedly. "Arthur…"

"I'm going," Fuliciana said calmly, and Lancelot stopped his arguing, sighing heavily.

"Fuliciana…" he began, turning to face her completely.

"Lancelot, if you wanted a woman who would sit at home and wait for you, then you picked wrong. I will not stay behind and watch my lover ride off to a possible death, helpless and hoping. That is not my way, Lancelot. I am not a Roman woman. I am a Woad."

Lancelot sighed and looked at Arthur as if for help. Arthur shrugged in reply to Lancelot's silent begging. He _wanted _Fuliciana to go. If Fuliciana was there, there was less of a chance of Lancelot being killed. The less the chance, the better Arthur felt.

"Fuliciana…I do not want you to be hurt!" he exclaimed. Fuliciana frowned at him, but she was not angry.

"Lancelot," she said patiently. "Please do not make this into another riot of yours. I'm going, and nothing you do or say is going to stop me."

Lancelot sighed and looked at the ground. When Fuliciana took on that tone of voice, there was nothing he could do to stop her. She had made up her mind, and anything he did to try to change it was just going to anger her further and make the situation worse. It was better to try and get the idea out of her head by going behind her back and talking to Guinevere and Arthur about it. It had worked before on several smaller things, and Lancelot was confident that it would work for the situation he was then faced with.

"What time tomorrow?" he asked tiredly. Fuliciana placed a hand on his arm worriedly.

"Early morning," Arthur replied. "So be ready. I have to tell the others."

"Is Jenny going?" Fuliciana asked with her child-like innocence that only made Lancelot more worried for her safety in battle.

"Possibly," Arthur said. "I haven't spoken with her yet. She didn't feel good earlier tonight, remember. Perhaps she is sick?"

"She said that she is feeling better," Fuliciana reported, and her eyes narrowed with some dark anger. Lancelot dimly wondered what Fuliciana and Guinevere had discussed earlier. "She should be all right to come. Besides, she would never miss a battle because she felt slightly sick."

"Well, I'll talk to her," Arthur said, looking slightly relived. "Thank you, Fuliciana."

"Of course, Arthur," Fuliciana replied, stepping forward and embracing the king tenderly. "_We _shall see you in the morning then."

"Right," Arthur said, looking slightly distracted as he looked at Lancelot. He knew how much Fuliciana meant to Lancelot. He also knew that if Fuliciana were to fall in battle, Lancelot's reason for living would die with her.

"I need to speak with the queen…" Lancelot began, but Fuliciana turned to face him with a knowing smile, and he stopped speaking.

"I know your aim, Sir Lancelot," she said with raised eyebrows. "You do it every time we disagree. You are coming to bed with me now. I'm going tomorrow, Lancelot."

Lancelot pouted like a scolded child, looking up at Arthur for help. Arthur shrugged and started down the hall.

"She's going, Lancelot," he remarked over his shoulder. Lancelot scowled at him, though he wasn't _really _angry. As soon as Arthur was out of sight, Lancelot turned to Fuliciana.

"Fuliciana…" he began, but Fuliciana cut him off by moving forward softly and capturing his lips with her own. When she broke the kiss some time later, she placed her hands flat on his chest and looked up at him with her eyes filled with love and passion.

"_That _is why I am going tomorrow, Lancelot. I'm not letting you go out there alone."

Lancelot sighed heavily and looked down at his lover, sadness radiating from his eyes.

"I just don't want anything to happen to you," he whispered. Fuliciana grinned and leaned her head against his chest as his arms encircled her.

"I know," she murmured. "But don't worry. I will be fine."

Lancelot nodded, and laid his cheek in her hair. He felt tears starting in his eyes, and he tried to blink them back, but they ran down his face unchecked.

_I cannot lose you_, he thought sadly. _Please do not leave me. _

Fuliciana shifted against him, almost in reply to his desperate pleas, as if to remind him that she would never leave him.

And Lancelot was comforted.

"Come," he whispered. "Let's got to bed."

Fuliciana nodded and took his hand, and they started down the hall to their room.

* * *

And a young servant woman watched as they walked, the frown on her face deepening. She knew that she would have him back. It was only a matter of time. 


	5. The Mission

Well, here's another chapter! I hope you like this story so far!

Still no word from White Truffle? I'm beginning to get nervous. I hope it's only real life calling, and I hope she's okay!

Individual thanks at the end!

* * *

**Chapter 3: **The Mission 

The next morning, the knights all stood together at the Round Table, drinking and waiting for Arthur.

"Where the hell is he?" Bors asked for what had to be the twentieth time in the last couple of minutes. "He told us to be down here early, and he's not even here yet!"

"I'm sure he'll be here," Galahad replied with a sigh. Guinevere just sat quietly next to Arthur's chair, looking down at the table. Fuliciana shot her a worried look, but she didn't have any time to wonder what was wrong with her, for Arthur walked in, looking relieved and slightly out of breath. All heads snapped towards him, eyes questioning.

"The Woad army is ready," he said calmly. "Granort is sending a small party of scouts out as we speak."

Fuliciana's mouth curled up in a small, barely unnoticeable sneer as Arthur spoke. Only Lancelot and Guinevere saw it, and both grinned sadly. Fuliciana's relationship with her father was taking a violent turn. Her hatred for him was growing; they could both see that. It was worrisome, yet mildly amusing at the same time.

"And what of us?" Galahad asked, arching an eyebrow. "Will we ride as well?"

"Yes," Arthur said simply. "We will ride in the other direction. Scouting."

Everyone lowered their head at this message. Scouting wasn't scouting without Tristan there, and each of them felt it.

"It will be our first time without Tristan," Gawain said bravely. "Do we have a scout who will be accompanying us?"

"Granort," Arthur said, looking at the ground as he spoke. He couldn't bring himself to meet Fuliciana's eyes and see her shocked and angry expression.

"Arthur!" she exclaimed, planting her palms flat on the table as she tried to catch Arthur's gaze. "Arthur, why him?"

"He gave me no other choice," Arthur said coldly, obviously not too pleased with the situation either. "He is a good tracker, Fuliciana."

Fuliciana stared at Arthur, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Lancelot placed a comforting hand on her back, rubbing small circles lovingly.

"He _is_ a good tracker," Guinevere, standing up with the grace that Fuliciana admired so. "But, Arthur, you know of the…sensitivity between our father and the two of us. Can you speak with Merlin?"

"We have no choice," Arthur said simply. "Besides, speaking with Merlin would take too long. We have to move soon, or we will lose the trail in the rain."

"Tristan could find a trail in the rain," Bors grumbled. Arthur looked up, his eyes finding Bors's and piercing them with an iciness that surprised everyone present.

"Tristan is dead," he said in a voice of steel. Fuliciana gave a little start of surprise, and Lancelot stopped his comforting. The entire room went so silent that they could hear the peasants talking outside.

It wasn't as if anyone could refute that statement, but no one liked the way Arthur said that. It was so plain, so cold, that they could only stare at him, wondering silently if he had lost his mind.

"Tristan _is _dead," Fuliciana said after a moment, and the emotion conveyed in her voice was enough to make everyone there lower their heads with reverence as if Fuliciana had been Tristan's lover rather than a friend. "But that does not mean we can't remember his tracking skills fondly. It does not mean that we can't remember _him _fondly.

Arthur looked around at all of the bowed heads, and his face turned a shade of red with shame. He opened his mouth to say something, but Fuliciana didn't let him.

"Now, Arthur," she said with a much more genial attitude. "Which direction are we heading, and how long shall we be gone?"

Arthur sighed heavily, suddenly looking very tired. It was an immense contrast to the childish, loving Arthur that they had all caught a glimpse of the evening before. Guinevere put out her arm and rested it on his. Fuliciana just watched; her hand clasped in Lancelot's tightly.

"We should be gone for a few days," Arthur murmured, his eyes fixed on Fuliciana's. "As for what direction; I believe we are moving north."

"North," Lancelot murmured, stroking Fuliciana's hair lovingly. "Last time we went north, we came back with something more precious than victory, eh, Arthur?"

Arthur smiled sadly at his wife. She smiled in return, clutching his arm to her like it was a doll and she were a small child.

"We did," Arthur said. "But let us hope that it does not happen again, or we would have a problem on our hands."

"You could give the women to us," Galahad said with a smile. Arthur laughed, and Lancelot snorted quietly.

"Why would you need a woman?" Lancelot asked innocently. "You've already got Gawain." Galahad glared daggers at him, but Gawain just went along with the recurring joke, draping his arm across Galahad's shoulders. Everyone laughed easily, though every one of them was looking around, wondering which of them would be cold and dead before the mission was over.

* * *

"Fulciana?" 

Fuliciana turned to look at Lancelot, smiling slightly as she mounted her horse. Before meeting the knights, she had never ridden a horse, but she was becoming rather good at it. Her horse was a gray one, which she named Trista.The name's similarity to Tristan's had made Lancelot jealous for a few short days before he promptly got over it. After all, Fuliciana was Tristan's friend. Friends mourned. Lancelot had often heard Bors muttering to Dagonet under his breath when he thought he was alone. Naming her horse after Tristan was just another form of mourning.

"Lancelot?"

Lancelot rode up beside Fuliciana, taking her chin in his hand and kissing her deeply once. He could practically _feel _Granort's stare on the back of his head.

"What was that for?" Fuliciana asked, though she sounded far from upset or disappointed with the random kiss.

"I'll protect you," Lancelot said simply.

"No, Lancelot," Fuliciana said teasingly, placing her hand on Lancelot's leg and tightening it possessively. "_I_ will protect _you_."

They both laughed, desperately trying to ignore Granort's clear, penetrating glare. He was on his horse beside Arthur, who was attempting to talk with him. The elder woad warrior was ignoring everything that Arthur said. Arthur looked at Guinevere helplessly, but she could only shrug and cast a worried look in Fuliciana's direction. They would have been better off if Granort hadn't gone with them in the first place, but like Arthur said, they had no choice. Granort had made it impossible for Arthur to decline his offer to help track.

"We should move out," Granort said, looking away from his daughter at last and turning towards Arthur with his jaw set angrily. "Now."

Arthur sighed and shot a disapproving glare in Granort's direction as one, last, futile attempt to regain control of the situation, and then he held up his hand for silence. Fuliciana was the last to fall quiet, trying to hide her giggles about something that Lancelot had said.

"We move out," Arthur said simply, but the words were said through clenched teeth. Everyone there nodded, all shooting glares at Granort that they didn't care if he saw. Clearly, there was some animosity towards the man, whether it was because of his sour disposition, the knights' loyalty to Fuliciana, or their bitterness at losing Tristan. Either way, Granort was clearly not a favorite amongst the small party. If it had been anyone else, Fuliciana would have pitied him. It was impossible to, though he was her father, and she could only stare at the back of his head sullenly and hope that if any of them were to die, that it would be him.

* * *

Cyrlic had always been cast to the side; useless and unable to live up to his father's expectations. His older brother had always been stronger and more capable than he, and had always been his father's lapdog; following him around and following his every command. That was the main reason that Cyrlic had fallen out of favor very early on. He was too strong willed and was able to think for himself. Cerdic knew that Cyrlic would threaten his position as leader one day, and the chances that he would win were very great. 

Cyrlic always knew that he would be in command of his father's army one day. When he was a young man training to fight, an old mystic told him that he would one day grow to lead, and he would cause great pain. So he sat back and bided his time, making himself stronger by learning through his father's mistakes. He knew that it was only a matter of time before his father fell, and he would take on his father's empire with Cyrnic.

Cyrnic had also been in the plan to rule Cerdic's empire. Unfortunately, he had fallen in battle with Cerdic, and so Cyrlic had been left on his own to rule. After a short period of anger and indecision, he decided that it was for the better if he ruled on his own. Still, his brother's death angered him greatly. He did not know who had killed his brother, but he vowed that he would kill the new king, Arthur. Arthur had killed his father, so it was likely that he killed Cyrnic as well.

His men called him insane. He knew it, but he feigned ignorance. They said that his father's death rattled him so much that he had become obsessed with hurting Arthur. Some, who knew his most secret plans, claimed that he had a plan to hurt Arthur more than death; one that was so cold and cruel and dire that they called it inhumane. Of course, no one had ever accused the Saxons of being human.

* * *

Lancelot sighed for the thousandth time that hour. With Granort's eyes boring a hole into his back, and the drizzle dripping from his hair into his eyes steadily, he couldn't think of a more miserable situation. He almost would rather have them do battle. At least that way, he wouldn't feel so damn uncomfortable. 

"Most fathers are happy when their daughters are engaged to be wed," Lancelot pointed out quietly to Fuliciana as they rode along. Fuliciana snorted under her breath.

"My father is hardly like most fathers," she replied just as quietly. "He is a cold man, Lancelot. To see him happy about anything is rare, unless he has just witnessed the death of one he hates."

"Well, I wonder what expression he'd have if _I _died," Lancelot murmured with an amused grin. Fuliciana rested her hand on Lancelot's arm tenderly.

"He will be in the ground long before you," she assured him. Lancelot grinned at her, obviously pleased.

"We can only hope," he said lowly, as if he wasn't sure that Fuliciana felt the same way.

"Yes," she said gently, and he grinned at her, taking her hand and kissing it affectionately.

"What would I do without you, my love?" he whispered. Fuliciana flushed a deep scarlet and hung her head, looking up at Lancelot out of the corner of her eye. She always blushed when he spoke to her prettily in front of the others. It wasn't because of embarrassment, but rather because of pride in him and what he was doing for her. She knew that thetwo loveless knights (though there _was _that frequent joke of Gawain and Galahad that seemed to have some merit) taunted him mercilessly about his devotion to her. The fact that he didn't seem to care made her love him all the more for it.

"You would get drunk every night and sleep with as many barmaids as there were at the fort," Fuliciana replied, moving Trista closer to Lancelot's Dalai and gently placing her hand on his leg as she rode along. Lancelot had to admire the great amount of skill that his lover had acquired in the short time that she had been riding her horse. She already surpassed Galahad as far as skill went, though everyone knew that Galahad had never really been an amazing horseman to begin with.

"That's right, my love," Lancelot said with a charming laugh. "I would have. You saved me from that horrible fate."

"Most men would see that as a far from horrible fate," Fuliciana pointed out warmly. Lancelot chuckled under his breath.

"After meeting you, Fuliciana, any life without you would be a horrible fate."

Fuliciana sighed with content and looked ahead of her, fairly glowing with happiness, and not bothering to try and hide it. She had felt, for a long while now, that her life was perfect and that nothing could change it or make it otherwise. Everything was as she wanted it to be, and if they could go on living the way they were forever, then she would have been the most happy woman ever to live.

But life never works the way that people wish it to, and Fuliciana's life was no exception. Soon, unknown to her, her life would change forever, though if it were for the worst or the best, she would not know until it was over.

* * *

**Individual Thanks:**

**Chiefhow: **Yeah, Lancelot loves women _a lot_ in my story, and especially loves Fuliciana. He just doesn't want to see her hurt. He's a sweet guy, really, once you get past the womanizing and all that. In this story, he's a lot more romantic and poetic.

**Misfit Writer: **I got your other review about the mistake: Don't worry about it, I get it a lot. I should have made it more clear at the end of Lancelot and Fuliciana that the ending of the original had been changed. Fuliciana's father should play a rather large part in this story, though, so I kind of need him here. It just makes everything more angsty and special!

**Camreyn: **Well, two of your questions got answered already. I had a Saxon POV and the other knights came back in this chapter! As for Guin's illness, well, we'll just have to see if that goes anywhere, won't we? And the woman is going to play a large part later on.


	6. Outnumbered

Well, here's Chapter 4! This is the beginning of the dark angsty stuff I've been warning you about! Oh no!

Please review! You all are so kind to me with your reviews!

Individual thanks will be at the end! Thanks again for reading my story!

* * *

**Chapter 4: **Outnumbered

Fuliciana awoke in the middle of the night to hear the soft, sighing breath of her sleeping lover on the ground beside her. Fuliciana had never been one to be frightened easily, but for some reason, on that night she felt uneasy. She moved closer to Lancelot impulsively, ignoring the fact that she felt very childish. It was dangerous in the woods at night, and with no one awake but herself, Fuliciana didn't feel very safe.

"What is it?" Lancelot asked her as she shifted, suddenly awake and alert, eyes darting around.

"Nothing," Fuliciana replied as she turned around to face him. "I just…I was just cold."

"You were frightened," Lancelot said smugly. "Weren't you?"

"Yes," Fuliciana admitted seriously, taking Lancelot by surprise. "Something's not right."

"What do you mean?" Lancelot asked worriedly.

"I don't know," Fuliciana said with a heavy sigh. "It is very quiet."

Lancelot listened, and he had to admit that the silence was slightly eerie. He shifted so he was propped up on one elbow, peering with dark eyes into the darker surrounding forest.

"Do you think it is Saxons?" he asked.

"I don't know," Fuliciana replied. "I don't believe so. Saxons aren't naturally quiet creatures."

"Right," Lancelot whispered, but still he strained his ears for any noise that would be out of place in the forest. It got to the point where he was straining his ears for any noise _at all._

"Who is on watch?" Fuliciana asked, looking around.

"Galahad and Gawain," Lancelot replied, gesturing towards the fire, where Galahad and Gawain sat with their eyes closed and their breath coming out of their mouths in short puffs of steam. Lancelot sighed and rummaged on the ground until he found a good-sized stick. When he found one, he lightly tossed it at Gawain, and hit him square in the forehead. Gawain awoke with a yelp, clutching at his head and looking around. Lancelot and Fuliciana ducked down and closed their eyes just in time to escape Gawain's notice, and they heard him grumble something about the cold before kicking Galahad awake.

Fuliciana and Lancelot giggled quietly, the eerie silence suddenly becoming comforting. And, after a few moments of lying awake, both were finally able to fall into a deep sleep.

* * *

Sighing with relief, the Saxon scout moved slowly and quietly away from the circle of knights, careful not to make too much noise, lest he call attention to himself. As soon as he was out of earshot of the two quarreling knights around the fire, he turned and ran very ungracefully deeper into the woods. Cyrlic would not be pleased if he ever found out how close he had been to getting caught. He wouldn't be pleased at all.

* * *

Arthur opened his eyes slowly and sat up, trying to smother a yawn with his hand and failing. He was ashamed to say that he was not used to sleeping on the ground any longer, after several months of an impossibly soft bed. Guinevere was still by his side, but her eyes were open, and she was staring into the forest quietly. Arthur looked where she was looking, and saw nothing. He sighed and rubbed her shoulder gently.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I thought I heard something," she said seriously. Arthur's brow furrowed, and he fell silent, listening carefully.

There is was. A dull thumping. Marching. There were Saxons nearby, and by the sound of it, they were heading right for the unprepared party of knights.

"Wake everyone!" Arthur whispered urgently. Guinevere nodded fearfully and sprang up, dropping the blanket on the ground. Arthur wondered how she did not even shiver in her revealing battle garb, but he had other things to worry about. He practically dove to his knees beside Galahad and Gawain, who were sleeping rather close together, shaking them awake roughly.

"Saxons!" he whispered into their ear urgently. Both men shot to their feet with panicked expressions. By this time, the stomping was so loud that they could hear it without straining their ears. Gawain hurriedly began to pack the blankets into his saddlebag, while Galahad searched the ground for a dagger that he had dropped the night before. Arthur stomped on the fire until it was out, and then moved on to awake a snoring Bors.

Guinevere went to Lancelot and Fuliciana after packing her things swiftly and carefully. They were sleeping with their arms around one another, and Lancelot had a small smile on his face. That smile brought back memories of Badon Hill and Lancelot's near-death. Guinevere shook them awake with a trembling hand, ashamed that she felt a lump in her throat thinking of that past day. She had always been taught to look ahead, not behind.

"What the bloody…?" Lancelot asked groggily.

"Saxons," Guinevere whispered. "Coming this way. Come, up!"

Fuliciana stood up speedily and grabbed her blanket and her saddlebag, moving to her horse and packing it all sloppily. Lancelot was slower to respond, but he was finished quickly as well. The two of them joined Galahad, Gawain, and a grumbling Bors in the center of the small clearing.

"Where is my father?" Fuliciana asked suddenly, not sounding worried at all; just curious and slightly baffled.

"I do not know," Arthur said, also sounding very confused.

"This is bloody _wonderful_," Bors remarked with a slight roll of his eyes. "Just fucking _perfect_, eh?"

"Well, we don't need him anyhow," Gawain said offhand. "He was just a scout."

"He was more than that," Guinevere admitted. "Arthur, this doesn't feel right."

"I know," Arthur said impatiently. "I know it doesn't, but there's no other choice. We fight here."

"We'll soon be surrounded," Lancelot pointed out. Arthur looked his friend deeply in the eye and clasped his hand to his shoulder tightly.

"I know," he said quietly, as if the others weren't hanging on to his every word and listening to everything he said. "We're going to have to fight hard, Lancelot."

"We could run," Galahad suggested, but Gawain elbowed him with a growl.

"When have we ever run from an enemy?" he asked.

"There have been times when I wish we had," Bors grumbled, and everyone knew he was thinking about Dagonet.

"We're not running," Arthur said to settle the matter. "We're staying here. We're fighting. Get ready."

Arthur turned to Guinevere and Fuliciana, who were already quietly conversing amongst themselves about how to best position themselves for a surprise attack.

"Trees," Guinevere said simply. "They will not see us, and we will have at least a small element of surprise. It is better than none."

"Trees," Arthur repeated. "Just the two of you?"

"Yes," Fuliciana said softly. Arthur reached out his hand and gently caressed his wife's cheek.

"All right," he said. "Be careful."

"It is battle," Guinevere remarked. "There is no 'careful' in battle. There is only luck and the gods."

Arthur smirked, but said nothing, and he made his way to Galahad and Gawain, who were staring into the trees as if they could yet see something. The stomping was coming closer, but still the trees and undergrowth blocked their view.

Guinevere and Fuliciana, after a quick and quiet discussion, darted separate ways and climbed separate trees with a dexterity that surprised everyone. Each managed to find a spot where they would be hidden well, and they readied their bows grimly.

"Be on the lookout for traps," Arthur remarked.

"There are none," said a gravely voice from behind him. Arthur spun in surprise and saw Granort standing behind him with an unreadable expression. "They're marching dead on. They have many men, and have resorted to using power rather than tactics."

"Then we shall have to use tactics," Arthur remarked thoughtfully. Granort nodded grimly.

"There is no time for tactics!" Lancelot exclaimed. "And we are so few!"

"And this time, there is no ice to crack," Gawain pointed out.

"We will do what we can," Arthur said.

* * *

Cyrlic marched at the head of the army; his chin high and his eyes squinted against the sunlight. It was a moment that would have made his father proud. He had managed to find Arthur and his knights, alone and unprepared for battle. He had even found two warrior women; a nice change from the weak peasants that the Saxon camp was filled with.

Cyrlic looked behind him only momentarily, to look at his army marching behind him. He would prove to his dead father that he was worthy. He would prove it by killing the only man who his father had failed to kill. Arthur.

He growled and gnashed his teeth angrily. Just the man's name sent little angry shivers up his spine. It wasn't so much the fact that he had killed his father, but it was more anger that Arthur had destroyed much of the large Saxon army. Cyrlic had been forced to wait for so long for them all to regroup.

Cyrlic knew that his men thought him harsh. They wanted to return home, but he would not let them. They wanted to make camp further from the wall, but he insisted that it was better to keep a close watch on Arthur. They called him a liar behind his back, and they said that he was trying to be something he never would be; his father. Cyrlic knew that he would never be his father. He would be better than his father. He knew that he would rule Briton one day. Though he had to do it without his brother by his side, he would still accomplish it somehow. In the end, he probably would have had Cyrnic killed anyway.

So Crylic smiled. And the men that saw him smile had to hide their shivers.

They would not have wanted to be Arthur and his men.

* * *

"I see them," Galahad said nervously to Gawain as the two stood nervously side-by-side in the clearing. Arthur stood beside them, wielding his sword, and Bors was on the other side with his knuckle blades and his shield. "They're coming."

"They've been coming for a while," Gawain muttered under his breath, but either Galahad didn't hear, or he chose to ignore it, for he did not comment.

Up in her tree, Guinevere carefully skimmed over all the Saxons, finally settling on one in the front who looked like the leader. She nodded to Fuliciana across the treetops and signaled which man she was taking. Fuliciana nodded and smiled, and opted to go for the second in command. Together, they waited with their bows steady.

"Three…" Fuliciana counted under her breath. "Two….one…"

* * *

The men panicked when Cyrlic and his second in command fell, charging forward and yelling. Several of the quicker thinking men helped cart their wounded commander out of the way. As the army surged towards the four unprotected knights, more arrows rained down on them, seemingly from every side.

The battle began. Men were slashing from every side at the knights, but still they held their ground. Two woad women jumped from the trees to land on the Saxons below. Fearing that there were more, the Saxons were distracted momentarily, and did not notice a young knight and an elder woad charging at them from behind. When four of their number had fallen painfully under the skilled blades of these warriors, they took notice, and turned to face them.

"Kill them!" yelled a commander to his men, waving towards the two warriors, who were cut off from the rest. They would be easier to kill, for they had no one watching their backs.

* * *

"Kill them!"

Fuliciana heard the order, and a frustrated cry tore from her throat as she fought her way towards Lancelot. She could see the wild desperation in his eyes as he was rapidly being pushed further and further from the group. She could sense the helplessness.

"Lancelot!" she cried, flinging herself into the battle with a vigor that surprised everyone who saw her. She was lost in a sea of the enemy, and it was all she could do to keep herself from panicking. They were all around her, leering at her and laughing. They knew she was helpless, and they knew that she knew they weren't going to kill her. She couldn't help the frightened tears that welled up in her eyes as she was backed up against a tree, still fighting and killing.

"Fuliciana!" Guinevere screamed, so far away. Fuliciana kept fighting, blind to anything but the welcoming sight of blood leaving the bodies of the creatures before her. Her only hope was that she could make her way to Lancelot.

There was a sharp pain in her side, and she screamed out, but she did not let it affect her fighting. She heard Lancelot's yell of rage, and she knew that he had seen it as well. She was weakening, and she knew that, but she was too afraid to admit it. Too afraid that if she let herself believe it, that it would come true.

"Lancelot!" she cried, but the noise that left her throat was barely a whimper. She felt herself fall to her knees, and the world spun as she weakly lifted her blade to deflect a blow.

* * *

Lancelot saw Fuliciana fall, and he froze inside. His greatest fears were being realized right in front of him, and he was helpless to do anything about it. He could only yell and fight harder, but he knew that no matter how hard he fought, he would never reach her in time.

Granort gave out a yell as well, which surprised Lancelot enough to remind him that there was still a battle going on. He fought harder and more desperately than he ever had in his life. He needed to reach her before it was too late.

* * *

Arthur yelled out when Fuliciana fell, trying to reach her. Guinevere was crying, tears flying in every direction as she twirled a deadly dance with her opponents. Arthur saw Galahad's stricken expression as he, Gawain, and Bors fought in a hard triangle of bodies, impossible to penetrate.

Arthur heard Lancelot's horrified scream as well, and he saw Lancelot fall into the masses, clutching his leg. An unmatched fear shot straight to Arthur's heart. He could not lose Lancelot. Not again.

Then the Woads burst from the cover of the trees, yelling their cry and wielding their blades with gnashing teeth and battle-crazed eyes. They stole towards the Saxons like an ocean wave. Those who did not run were fought, and killed.

Arthur fought with renewed vigor, though he wanted nothing more than to collapse on the ground and lie there until sunset. He and Guinevere stood close together, each watching out for the other as the Saxons continued to fall around them.

* * *

Lancelot knew the battle was over because he could hear the moans of the dying and wounded. He pulled himself to his feet, staggering as a pain shot up his left leg. He could not care about his pain. It barely even registered as he limped across the field, stumbling over the bodies of friend and foe.

He saw her lying atop one of the Saxon beasts, her hair flung all around her like a soft cushion of the finest silk. Her face was turned up to the sky, her lips ashen and slightly parted, and her eyes fluttered closed. Her skin was pale as death, and in a sharp contrast, her blood spilled onto the ground from the gash that started at her hip, and disappeared onto her back.

He fell to his knees beside her, hardly noticing that the others were calling out for him; looking for him amongst the dead. He just wanted to sleep. He eased himself down beside his lover and took her hand in his. Closing his eyes, his last thought was that he hoped he would die.

* * *

**Individual Thanks:**

**Misfit Writer: **Glad you liked the bonding! The whole thing with the father is going to become an issue later on, I promise, though I admit I haven't really decided on what to do with him yet. I have a few ideas. I'm just trying to decide on one.

**Camreyn: **Yay! This one's going to take me a while to write…

Yeah, Arthur was feeling a little stressed out about the whole Granort thing, so he got a little mad about everyone being pissed off about it and everything.

Lancelot, on the other hand, seems to be able to turn just about every dark situation into a lighthearted one, though I don't see how he's going to be able to make light of the situation at the end of this chapter!

Galahad DOES need more airing time in stories, which is why he's going to be in mine a good amount. I think that Galahad is simply too fluffy to be left out of stories for TOO long.

Yeah, there's a long running joke, in my story anyway, that Gawain and Galahad are 'more than just friends'. It's how I get my slashy amusement without actually writing slash!

Granort…well, Granort's a very powerful Woad general, and he's also a bit of a bastard (which you know from earlier stores). I didn't really state HOW he made it impossible for Arthur to refuse, but he basically just told him 'I'm coming, and you can't do anything about it, or I won't send my men out'. Normally, Arthur probably would have used his kingly power to force Granort into sending his men, but as they were in a hurry, and he was very frustrated with everything, he thought it best to avoid an argument and just allowed Granort to come. Basically, Granort knew he had time on his side, and he used it to his advantage to get what he wanted.

I haven't told about them in the story yet, but in my head they're training some of the older boys to be knights. Tristan was never alive to see them, so he didn't have them training to be scout. I always pictured Tristan as a pretty mysterious guy, so he probably wouldn't want to give his tracking secrets to anyone. The young boys training don't go on the mission because they aren't well enough trained.

Lancelot really should be careful, but we all know him, and he's not an overly cautious person. He has this whole 'she's my woman, I'll kiss her whenever I want' kind of attitude about it.

Well, I explained some more about Crylic in this chapter, but I'll go over it. He _does_ hate his father, very much so, but he doesn't hate his brother. He recognizes that Cyrnic is his father's lapdog, and therefore has no respect for him, but he doesn't hate him. He wanted to rule the empire with Cyrnic because then they would have kind of a two-person leadership. (Of course, we all know that they would have been at each other's throats after a while anyway). Crylic actually doesn't want revenge on Arthur for killing Cerdic. He just wants to kill Arthur because he figures that if Arthur killed Cerdic, then he probably killed Cyrnic too. (screwed up logic, yes, but he's a Saxon) Also, he's a little pissed that the army was pretty much destroyed.

Yeah, I love Galahad and Gawain to death, so I've always hinted at their relationship in my stories. I think they make a very nice pair.

It wasn't so much that Galahad wasn't a good horseman. It was more that he wasn't as good as the others!

Glad you enjoyed the chapter! And thanks for the long review! It made my day!

**Chiefhow: **I'm glad you like it, and I'm glad you're reading the revisions. It will make MUCH more sense, lol. Lancelot is pretty poetic, or at least he seems to be. Maybe it's his lovely dark eyes paired with his gorgeous, shimmering hair!


	7. After the Battle

Here's chapter 5! I hope you enjoy it!

Just to warn everyone, I might be a little slow with the updates, because my laptop shorted out, and not I'm forced to resort to using disks and using just about any computer I can find to write. I'm hoping I'll still be able to do my normal speed though!

Please review! I looooove reviews, as you all know!

Individual thanks at the end!

And Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy/Merry other religious celebrations! …

Let's just go with Happy Holidays, shall we? And Happy New Year, though I hope I'll have an update before then!

* * *

**Chapter 5:** After the Battle

"Lancelot!"

Guinevere heard Arthur's anguished cry from where she stood, talking to the leader of the Woad party, which had just saved them moments before. Whirling to face the direction from where the sound had came, she gasped as her eyes roamed the forest in front of her, desperately seeking her husband.

She saw him kneeling beside Lancelot, his friend's head pulled up to his chest. His eyes were closed, and he was murmuring something; a prayer, maybe. Guinevere could scarcely keep the tears at bay, though she was not yet close enough to know what had happened.

"I am sorry," she said hastily to the Woad general, already moving towards her husband as she spoke. He shouted after her, but she couldn't be bothered to listen. She just moved across the field, wading through the dead and wounded, until she reached her sobbing husband.

She reached her hand down to Arthur's face, and cupped his cheek in her hand. Arthur looked at her, his eyes tearful, but he was smiling.

"He's alive," he said with a heavy sigh of relief. Guinevere felt all of the fear and tension just melt out of her in an instant, and she let her hand drift down to caress Lancelot's cheek affectionately. She couldn't help but feel slightly guilty about her earlier assumptions that Lancelot could only mean harm for her sister.

Her sister. Just thinking about Fuliciana made all the fear and terror flood back at once.

"Where is Fuliciana?" she asked. Arthur looked up at her, his eyes widening in a terror that matched her own. They both began to search the ground desperately, but they did not need to look very far. She was lying a few yards out of reach of Lancelot, her thin form nearly obscured by the large Saxon on top of her.

"There!" Arthur exclaimed, at the same moment that Guinevere laid eyes on her sister. Even from far away, it looked to Guinevere that her sister was dead. She was very pale, and her head was thrown back, her lips slightly parted. Her brown hair was stained a deep red from the drying blood that matted her luxurious curls, and more blood covered her face. Whether it was her blood or the blood of her opponents, Guinevere did not know.

Suddenly, Guinevere noticed that the other three knights had appeared, and were all looking towards Fuliciana with horror written on their faces. Guinevere found that the shock and utter disbelief that she was feeling was displayed openly on the face of the youngest of the knights. Galahad fell to his knees beside Fuliciana's limp form, gently reaching out to brush a curly lock out of her eyes. The young queen felt tears fall from her eyes, and she let the sobs wrack her body. Arthur was only staring in open-mouthed dismay, as he slowly rocked Lancelot back and forth as if he was comforting him, preparing him for what he would be faced with when he awoke.

Then, Galahad's brow furrowed, and he looked down at Fuliciana, hastily bending forward and placing his ear just in front of her mouth. He looked up at Guinevere and his mouth opened as if he was going to say something. He did not speak, however, but just remained like that for so long a moment that Guinevere realized that she was not breathing.

Galahad finally pulled his face away from Fuliciana's, and he straightened, looking away from Guinevere and Arthur to stare down at the Woad woman. Then, he stood completely.

"She's alive," he said softly; so quietly that if Guinevere had not been waiting urgently for him to speak, she might not have heard him at all. "She lives."

There was silence for a long moment, and then Guinevere looked away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. When she was certain that no tearstains lingered on her face, she rose to her feet and walked the few steps to Fuliciana. Looking down on her sister, she couldn't shake the feeling that Fuliciana was completely and utterly still. It certainly didn't seem like she was moving at all. She looked so cold and dead that Guinevere was afraid to touch her; afraid to feel that there was no movement, and that Galahad was simply thinking wishfully.

But, as Guinevere let her hand hover a short distance away from Fuliciana's mouth, she felt the faintest breath upon it. Her eyes widened happily at this miracle, and she turned to look at Galahad with an expression that showed her happiness more clearly than words ever could.

"She _is _alive!" she exclaimed.

"I told you!" Galahad cried back, just as joyful and giddy with happiness.

"Thank you, Lord," Arthur murmured reverently, lowering his head to rest on Lancelot's shoulder. Guinevere sighed happily and took Fuliciana's limp hand in her own.

"We have to get them to some help," said Galahad suddenly, interrupting the moment of happiness. "Fuliciana is very faint."

The laughter and celebration stopped so abruptly that it would have been comical if the situation had not been so serious.

"How will we get them back to the fort?" Guinevere asked quietly, looking to Arthur. Arthur looked around at all of his knights, and at the Woads, who were beginning to gather around the small group.

"I will take Lancelot on my horse," Arthur began slowly. "And Galahad, you take Fuliciana with you."

Galahad nodded wordlessly.

"What of Dalai and Trista?" Gawain asked with a surprising calm.

"You and Bors each take one," Arthur replied, sounding stronger as he kept talking. His instinct for authority was overriding his instinct to panic in the dire situation that he was faced with. "Where is Granort?"

"Here," said Granort icily as he stepped out of the crowd of Woads. Unlike everyone around him, he did not look afraid or even concerned for his daughter. He simply looked indifferent, as if he did not care one way or another about what happened to her. Knowing Granort, that was probably exactly what he was thinking.

"You ride ahead and prepare them for our arrival," Arthur said with all the command of a leader. Granort sighed loudly.

"What of the Saxons that made it away?" he asked pointedly. "Will we just let them run?"

"For now," Arthur replied. "We have to get back to the fort. You daughter is in need of attention."

"But the Saxons have large numbers, Arthur," Granort argued. Everyone around him turned to look at him with disgust clear in their gaze.

"Your daughter is dying and you cannot even take a moment to think of her?" Galahad asked angrily. Gawain automatically stepped forward to try and restrain Galahad, but the young man showed no sign of attempting to attack the elder Woad. He just stared at him with contempt, as if his energy could not be wasted on such a man. "What kind of a father are you? What kind of a man?"

"Enough, Galahad," Arthur said sharply, though everyone could see by the look on his face that he was completely in agreement. "This is not the time to be arguing. We need to get Lancelot and Fuliciana back to the wall. Granort, you must ride ahead."

"I want to stay and hunt down the Saxons," Granort said calmly, much to everyone's surprise and dismay. "With just a small party of men…"

"_I don't care what you want to do_!" Arthur roared suddenly, leaping to his feet, his fists curling as he stared at the elder Woad. He lowered his voice to an angry growl, his anger still radiating forth strongly. "I don't care what you want to do," he repeated. "You are riding to the wall to inform the others of what has happened. You are under my command, Granort. Remember that. Remember how little power you _really _have."

Granort's jaw clenched, and for a moment, it seemed as though he was going to step forward and strike Arthur. Instead, he just bowed his head in a forced signal of respect, his eyes glaring while his lips formed a spitting apology.

"My apologies, my lord," he growled. "I will ride ahead."

Arthur watched as Granort walked back through the crowd, which parted wordlessly for him to pass. His back was straight with dignity, and though he limped slightly, Arthur couldn't help but feel that he had just earned respect by putting a respected man in his place.

"Arthur," Guinevere said quietly, still on her knees beside her sister. "What will we do?"

Arthur sighed heavily and began throwing out orders, scarcely listening to himself. The only thing that mattered to him was getting back to the fort. He only wanted Lancelot and his lover to safety. There was nothing else that mattered.

Suddenly, as if on cue, Lancelot began to move. Shooing everyone away and yelling at them to do the task he had assigned them, Arthur knelt on the ground beside his friend again. Lancelot's eyes opened, and he squinted in the sunlight that turned Arthur's face to a dark shadow above him.

"Arthur?" he croaked warily. Arthur nodded pulled Lancelot to him in a tight embrace. Lancelot rested his head on Arthur's shoulder tiredly and closed his eyes.

"I thought you had been lost," Arthur murmured softly into his knight's hair. "I thought I had lost you again."

"You didn't ever lose me," Lancelot mumbled in reply. Then, as he remembered the events of the battle, he shot into a sitting position, clutching Arthur's arm in his fright.

"Fuliciana!" he exclaimed, horrified. "I saw her fall, and…" He broke off and looked around desperately. When his eyes fell on his lover, he froze completely, forgetting to breathe as he looked at her.

"Do not worry!" Arthur exclaimed hurriedly. "She lives. She is alive."

Lancelot sagged against Arthur in relief, and Arthur embraced his friend once again, as Lancelot laughed his relief into Arthur's shoulder.

"I thought…" he murmured. "She looks so cold."

"I know," Arthur replied softly. "I know. We thought the same."

* * *

From where she was leading her horse by the reins over to Galahad and the others, Guinevere saw Lancelot and Arthur sitting together, both of them crying and each trying to hide it from the other. She started to walk towards them, but then she stopped herself. Smiling, she continued to ready her horse. She knew that Arthur and Lancelot needed their time together. It was the first time that she had ever thought of Lancelot as Arthur's friend, and not Fuliciana's lover. It seemed that things were getting better between them after all.

* * *

Crylic was a wreck. His arrow-wound had not been fatal, but the fact that he had been the first to fall in battle had made him lose a large amount of respect from his men. They laughed about it behind his back, and he knew of it, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. For several days he had been weak and useless. Any one of them could have killed him, but they hadn't taken the chance. They were still afraid of him, though they joked about his incompetence.

He was afraid of losing respect from his men. That was the one thing that Cerdic had that Cyrlic had admired. His men had respected and feared him. Of course, it hadn't gotten them anywhere good in the end, but they had still shown that his father was a strong man. Cyrlic had to admit that he respected his father for it, and he didn't admit that often.

Though Cyrlic was weak, paranoid, and ridiculed, he knew that he would return Arthur's favor of once again nearly destroying his perfect army. He knew that it was only a matter of time before the chance came for him to strike and seize Arthur's empire. Cyrlic couldn't wait for his chance. He knew that if he wanted something enough, he had to go get it, so he contented himself with the knowledge that as soon as he was healed enough to do battle, he and his men would make for Hadrien's wall, where they would face Arthur and his men, and they would win.

* * *

**Individual Thanks!**

**Jemiul: **Hi! I'm glad you liked the chapter! Don't worry, I'm hoping to write a lot, since writing this story is pretty much the highlight of my life right now. Not very exciting, huh?

**Laura B.: **Well, you got your wish…for now (cue creepy music) Thanks for reviewing!

**Chiefhow: **Hmmm….I don't know about the whole bit of you not being able to write battle sequences properly. I recall some battle sequences of yours that I loved quite a bit… Well, Lancelot IS delicious, is he not? He's on my top five list of yummy men for sure!

Thanks for reviewing, everyone! You all know how much I appriciate it!


	8. A Father's 'Concerns'

Here's chapter six! Sorry I haven't updated in a while!

I got the King Arthur DVD for Christmas, so I'm feeling pretty inspired. In fact, Lancelot's pick-up line to Guinevere in the director's cut is now my new saying:

"If you represent what Heaven is, take me there."

Ha, very funny stuff there.

Thank you for all your reviews! Individual thanks at the end, and please remember to review! Thanks again and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 6: **A Father's 'Concerns'

Lancelot's eyes slowly opened, and he stared at the ceiling above him with his eyes fixed on one point. He heard light breathing beside him, and for a long moment, he thought that it was Fuliciana, and he was waking up from a bad dream.

The memory of the battle had a dreamlike quality to it. It was shaky and distorted, and as he lay there he could only remember fragments. Most clear in his mind was the image of Fuliciana falling. Everything else was just a battle-red haze of anger and blood. It was always that way with battles, it seemed.

But then Lancelot realized that it hadn't been a dream. His leg throbbed with every beat of his heart, and when he moved, a jolt of pain shot from his thigh downward. He hissed and tried to roll over, but found himself stopped by Arthur's gentle hands.

"Lie still, Lancelot," he said gently. Lancelot peered into the darkness to reassure himself that it was, in fact, Arthur who spoke to him, though he could clearly discern his commander's voice. When he saw Arthur's concerned green eyes peering back at him, he sighed in relief and settled back against the cushion.

"So it was not a dream," he said reluctantly. Arthur's soft, humorless chuckle rippled through the air.

"No," he said. "It wasn't."

"Is she well?

"Last I heard."

"When was that?"

"Several hours ago."

"Was she awake?"

"No."

"Can I see her?"

Arthur sighed and let out another chuckle that held no humor.

"Lancelot, you cannot walk," he pointed out. Lancelot sighed.

"I don't _care_!" he exclaimed. "I want to be with her when she wakes."

"I know," Arthur replied gently. "But you have yourself to worry about too. You know that she would blame herself if your leg was infected because you insisted on sitting by her bedside."

"She would," Lancelot admitted. "But it is hardly likely that my leg would get an infection just because I wanted to sit by her bedside."

Arthur shrugged and grinned. Lancelot couldn't help a creeping smile of his own.

"Galahad was worried for you," Arthur said to break the silence that followed. "On the ride back, he would ask after your breathing every moment."

"He was probably hoping I'd go and die so he could be the one to comfort Fuliciana," Lancelot said with an injured grunt. Arthur chuckled.

"Funny," he said. "That was my first thought as well."

"We are very alike, Arthur Castus," Lancelot said with a shrug. "Why else would we have remained friends for all this time?"

"Because I pity you," Arthur said simply, and Lancelot's laugh rang through the room, startlingly loud. It was then that Lancelot noticed how quiet the castle was.

"Is it that late?" he asked. Arthur nodded.

"Very," he said. "We got back at sunset yesterday, and you have been asleep until then. You're lucky you were able to avoid infection."

"Don't worry about me," Lancelot said with a laugh. "I seem to be able to escape infection on most occasions."

"Yes," Arthur said, unconsciously thinking back to Badon Hill. "You do. But remember that you are not immune to it. Don't get overconfident."

Lancelot grinned slightly, though Arthur could see that his mind was elsewhere by the unfocused look to his eyes.

"Am I ever overconfident?" he asked innocently, and Arthur chuckled. There was a pause, and then Lancelot sighed heavily. "I'm worried for her," he said lowly.

"I know," Arthur said, putting out his hand and letting it rest on his friend's shoulder. "I am as well."

Lancelot turned his dark eyes on Arthur, and Arthur could see the watery tears stubbornly held at bay by nothing more than pride. His lower lip quivered slightly, but his jaw still had a determined set to it. Arthur knew that it was only a matter time before either stubbornness or vulnerability won over, and he was prepared to confront either emerging personality.

He was slightly relieved when Lancelot allowed a single tear to fall down his cheek. The king leaned forward and tenderly wrapped his arms around his friend, holding him against his chest as he wept.

"I was so scared," Lancelot whimpered. Arthur hushed him gently, running his fingers through Lancelot's curls. He knew from fifteen years of comforting Lancelot that the only way to successfully calm him was to caress his hair. It always worked without fail.

"I was scared too," Arthur whispered in reply. "For both of you."

"I wanted to die," Lancelot said, his breath catching in his throat. Arthur felt his own eyes filling with tears as he stared at the top of his friend's head.

"I would never wish that," Arthur whispered back, barely audible. Lancelot sat up and pulled away from Arthur, looking him sharply in the eye.

"Why?" he asked, his question startling Arthur greatly.

"What do you mean, why?" he asked.

"Why would you not wish it?"

Arthur was familiar with Lancelot's personality, and he knew that when Lancelot was bedridden, he tended to think darkly and badly of himself.

"I would not wish it because you are my greatest and truest friend," he pointed out patiently. "There is no other besides you who can make me smile even in the darkest times, Lancelot. No other."

Lancelot sighed and looked down. Arthur knew that he hated talking about his feelings. He seldom did it, and when he did, Arthur was often surprised at what his friend was thinking.

"You have Guinevere," was what Lancelot said on this occasion. "There is…no need for me."

Arthur had been expecting something along those lines. He knew Lancelot well.

"Lancelot," he said, leaning forward and trying to catch his knight's eye. Lancelot refused to look at him. "Lancelot, Guinevere cannot replace you. She is not _you, _Lancelot. No one can replace you. No one."

Lancelot finally looked up at him, his eyes watering once again.

"Do you mean that?" he asked. "Or do you just say that to make me feel as if I am actually worth something."

"I mean it," Arthur said simply. "I mean it more than anything I've ever said in my entire life. I love Guinevere, Lancelot, but a man needs a friend, perhaps even more than he needs a wife."

Instinctively, both men wrapped their arms around one another, and Arthur would have been lying if he had said that he did not feel a lump forming in his throat and tears filling his eyes.

Lancelot and Arthur had always had a bond. It was a bond that could not have been understood by any of the other knights. Not even Gawain and Galahad would have understood when Arthur used the word 'love' to Lancelot. Not even Bors and Dagonet would understand the fear that Lancelot felt when he lost sight of Arthur in battle. No one would have understood the way they remained in one another's embrace for so long a moment. Arthur and Lancelot were two friends who had known one another so completely that it was as if they were looking at a reflection of themselves when they looked at one another. They had become nearly the same person in the fifteen years that they had lived together. It was for that reason that they didn't have to speak. Their embrace spoke loudly enough for both of them to hear it.

* * *

Guinevere opened the door slowly, but stopped when she saw the two dimly lit figures embracing in the center of the room. She could hear one of them sobbing, and the other whispering comforting words. It surprised her that in that moment she could not discern one from the other.

She wanted to speak with Arthur, and she knew that Lancelot would want to know how Fuliciana was doing, but she could not interrupt Arthur and Lancelot. Slowly and silently, she closed the door. When she heard the barely audible click as the door closed tightly, she stood with her back to it, sinking to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. She could not help the tears that began to fall. She felt the guilt wash over her again. She always felt guilty when Lancelot and Arthur were together.

Guinevere had always thought that she had a gift for reading people. Fuliciana claimed to have that same gift, but Guinevere never believed her. Fuliciana was too trusting and open with people. Fuliciana had trusted Lancelot seemingly immediately. Guinevere, however, hadn't trusted him from the start.

She always felt guilty when around him, because of the simple fact that she didn't trust him. Whenever he smiled at her, or if he said something to her, she would feel like she was doing something wrong because she was thinking badly about him. It was almost as if she was hurting Arthur as well, because Arthur and Lancelot were so close. She didn't know what to think or feel. She _tried _to trust Lancelot, but some part of her would not let her.

It was for that reason that she sat down and cried that night outside of Lancelot's door. Frustrated with her conflicting feelings and frightened for her beloved sister, she saw no other option than to sit and sob and let all of her feelings out into the open. She only wished that she could talk to someone.

It was frightening to her how on cue Granort's arrival was. Just as she was thinking that she needed someone to speak with who wasn't close to Lancelot, he appeared at one end of the dark hallway, pretending to look surprised as he saw her huddled in the doorframe.

"My daughter," he said in his mysterious voice. "What are you doing down there?"

He offered his hand to help her up. She looked up at him, mistrust glittering in her eyes. It was only after a few moments of hesitation, however, that she took his offered hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"I went to Fuliciana's room, but you were not there," Granort said calmly. Guinevere felt an involuntary stab of fear in her heart. The logical part of her brain said that Granort could not have possibly harmed Fuliciana. The motherly part told her that anything was possible. "The young knight told me where to find you."

Guinevere could not stop the sigh of relief that escaped her body, and she felt instantly ashamed. Granort didn't seem to notice however, and he just took Guinevere's arm lightly and began walking down the hall, obviously expecting her to follow him. She did, warily, looking longingly back at the door to Lancelot's quarters.

"We must talk," Granort said. "Of Lancelot. How is he?"

"Fine," Guinevere said defensively, though she herself had been thinking hateful thoughts about him only moments before. Flushing a crimson color, she looked down at the ground as they continued to walk.

"I know that you…encouraged him to woo Fuliciana," Granort continued.

"I did," Guinevere said, sighing only slightly. "In the beginning."

"Ah, in the beginning?" Granort asked, sounding more than just slightly smug. Guinevere shot him a glare that he couldn't see.

"Yes," she said simply.

"But yet you do not encourage it any more," Granort pressed. "Why?"

"Their relationship does not need any more encouraging," Guinevere said through clenched teeth. Granort laughed easily, and Guinevere's jaw clenched tighter. Granort stopped moving and turned to face Guinevere, looking her in the eye sternly.

"I do not miss the way you look at him," he said. "You do not trust him. I can see that."

"Father…" Guinevere began, but Granort held up a hand, silencing her.

"You do not trust him," he said again. "And for good reason. The man…"

"Father," Guinevere said again, this time stronger. "I know that you do not trust Lancelot because he gave you the limp that you now carry, but that is not why I do not trust him. I do not need to hear your ranting about something that happened long ago. The knights and our people are _at peace, _father. There is no need to be reopening old feuds."

Granort laughed eerily, and Guinevere could not help but wish that Arthur were there beside her. She would not have minded even Lancelot.

"You are truly the queen of your people," he said with a chuckle. "But tell me; why do you not trust him if your sister loves him so?"

"Father, you are not supposed to be here," Guinevere said simply. "I have spoken with you long enough. Please. It is time for you to leave."

Guinevere brushed past her father and started down the hall. She could feel Granort's stare on the back of her head.

"You believe he will hurt her," he said calmly. She willed her feet to keep moving, but they froze, refusing to move onward. She turned to face him. "You do not trust him because you are afraid that he will leave her for another woman."

Guinevere sighed and looked down at the ground, trying to force back the tears that were welling in her eyes. She tried to tell herself that real queens didn't cry, but it didn't seem to be working.

"Fuliciana is all the family I have now," she said harshly, finally bringing her moist eyes up to meet her fathers'. "I want to protect her from any harm. I _need _to."

Granort's scowl followed Guinevere as she stalked down the hall back to her room, long after she was out of his sight. When she was far enough away that she knew he couldn't see her, she sat against the wall once more and put her head in her hands, sobbing, until she could cry no more.

* * *

**Individual Thanks:**

**_Chiefhow: _**Yes, there are some VERY yummy moments in the director's cut. I hit the pause button quite a few times! I'm glad you liked the chapter. Too bad Guinevere is back to being super-wary of Lance again! Granort certainly does have his issues. I don't even like him that much, and I created him!

**_Jemiul: _**Merry late Christmas to you too, and I'm glad you like my story. I enjoy writing it! I'm hoping to update soon. I'm very inspired now by the Director's Cut!

Thanks for the reviews, and Happy New Year!


	9. Tristan and the Dream

Wow, I took a while to update! I just realized it last night as I was typing another fic, and I rushed to write this chapter! Sorry about that!

So, here's Chapter 7. I hope you like it. I worked hard!

Thanks to my reviewers. You guys rock! Please review again. You all know how much I love it!

* * *

**Chapter 7: **Tristan and the dream 

Slowly and silently, a young servant girl crept into Fuliciana's chambers, a basin of water and clean dressings held in her arms. It was very dark in the room. The only light came from a tiny flickering candle next to Fuliciana's bed. The serving woman carefully placed the basin on the table and stared down at the sleeping woad woman, a sneer contorting her pretty face.

She reached into her dress and grabbed the long, smooth hilt of the knife she had obtained specially for this purpose. She brought the blade up to the light, admiring the way it shone in the flames. Slowly, her sneer transformed into a dark grin with narrowed eyes, and she chuckled softly to herself.

* * *

_"Wake up you damn fool!" Tristan yells, splashing water over Lancelot's sleeping form._

_"Tristan!" whines young Lancelot, his curls flopping forward onto his forehead. He is eighteen, still young and homesick, and he does not need Tristan waking him so rudely._

_"We have to go!" Tristan says urgently. "She is in trouble."_

_Lancelot frowned. She? Who was in trouble?" _

_"Who?" he asks innocently. _

_"Fuliciana!" Tristan yells desperately. _

_The memories flood back, and suddenly Lancelot is no longer an innocent young man. He is older, and standing atop Badon Hill with Tristan by his side. Below, Fuliciana is fighting through a pack of hungry-eyed Saxons._

_"Please!" she cries to Lancelot. "Lancelot, please save me!"_

_Lancelot takes a worried step forward, but Tristan holds him back. Suddenly, Fuliciana and the Saxons are gone, replaced by a young woman who looks vaguely familiar to him_

_"Come with me," she whispers, walking towards him, holding a hand out to him, though she is still quite far away. "Come, my Lancelot."_

_Lancelot starts to move towards her, but he hears a ghostly scream cut through the air. His head snaps away from the young woman in front of him, his eyes searching for the sound. _

_"Lancelot!" Fuliciana's cry comes again, and Lancelot sees that it is coming from the forest. He turns to look at Tristan, and sees that Tristan is mounted on his horse, and that Lancelot's own Dalai is beside him. _

_"Hurry!" Tristan yells. "She is in trouble!"_

_Suddenly, someone grabs Lancelot and spins him around as the world goes dark, and the clouds cover the sun. Fuliciana stands there, her curls bobbing about her face mysteriously; her mouth parted in a small smile. _

_"Come with me," she whispers, and her mouth is on his. Lancelot can barely hear Tristan yelling in the background, but he cannot hear what Tristan is saying. Fuliciana lightly pushes him back, and he lands onto a soft bed. He looks around, and realizes that he is in his room. Tristan is still shouting somewhere, but Lancelot doesn't care. Fuliciana is above him, her hands planted on either side of his head. _

_"Fuliciana," he says with content. "Fuliciana, you are so beautiful."_

_Her lips are on his again, and he is surprised at the force behind them. It is uncharacteristic of his lover, who normally is mild-tempered and gentle. Suddenly, the curtains fly back and the light enters the room. Lancelot sees that the woman in bed with him is not Fuliciana, but the young woman from before. He yells and jumps to his feet. _

_As he jumps, he finds himself in a deep forest, with trees surrounding him and the eerie noise of drumming filling his ears. He spins in a circle, unsure of where he is. He cannot see the fort from where he stands, and he had no idea which direction he is facing. Suddenly, he hears the scream again, coming from behind him. He whirls in that direction and sees a man standing there. A Saxon. _

_He reaches for his sword instinctively, only to find that it is not there. The only weapon in his possession is a long, curved knife with a smooth handle and something etched into the blade. Lancelot looks at the wording curiously and is surprised to see his own name in flowery script._

_"Do you hear her scream, Lancelot?" asks a haunting voice. Lancelot looks to where the Saxon had been only moments before, but he is not there. He feels hot breath on the back of his neck, and he spins around, but there is still no one. Suddenly, he is frozen in place, and cannot move. He feels a long fingernail scratch his neck, drawing blood. _

_"Who are you?" Lancelot asks, shaken. A chilling laugh reaches his ears, and he strains every muscle in his body to get himself to move, but he can't. _

_"Face me, knight, and see who I am," says the taunting voice. "Face me and see your nightmare."_

_Lancelot finds himself able to obey, and he spins around slowly, coming face to face with the haunting man. His long braided blonde beard is drenched in blood, and his shaved head is marred with scars. At Lancelot's surprise, he laughs coldly._

_"Do you know who I am, filth?" the Saxon asks. Lancelot starts to answer, but then he realizes that he does not know this man. Memories from Badon Hill bombard him. This is not the same man who nearly killed him. This is another._

_"No," Lancelot says weakly. _

_"You will," says the Saxon, laughing again and chilling Lancelot. As the Saxon is laughing, Lancelot's fingers tighten on the hilt of his knife, readying for an attack. He lunges the curved blade into the man's chest, but he only continues to laugh, unfazed by the attack. Lancelot angrily pulls the knife out and stabs again, but still the Saxon continues to chuckle. _

_"Nothing can harm me," he whispers, suddenly reaching out and grabbing Lancelot's tunic, pulling him close to drive the point home. "Nothing can harm me more than I will harm you. Not even death."_

_"I will find a way," Lancelot growls through clenched teeth. "I swear to you."_

_In response, the Saxon holds up a withering and dying flower crown. _

_Suddenly, Lancelot is standing in an open field, with flowers sprinkled through the grass carelessly. He hears someone laughing behind him and Fuliciana is there, dressed in a beautiful dress of deep red. She is spinning, her arms outstretched and her face turned up to the sky, eyes closed and mouth open. _

_"It's so beautiful!" she exclaims, and she comes to a stop in front of him, tilting her head to one side in response to his confusion. _

_"What is it?" she asks. _

_Lancelot starts to answer, but suddenly he is in the dark again, and he can hear running hoof beats and screaming. A scorching fire burns somewhere very close, but there is no light. There is only heat and pain. He screams, but no sound escapes his mouth. _

_"You must save her!" yells Tristan's voice far off in the distance. "Lancelot! Lancelot!"_

_But Lancelot is tired. He needs to sleep. He doesn't know who Tristan's talking about. He can only feel the cold wind blowing over him, and he wants to sleep. _

_"Wake up you damn fool!"_

* * *

Lancelot awoke with a jolt, sitting straight up and looking around him wildly, panting. Arthur, who was sleeping in a chair beside the bed, started awake as well when Lancelot jolted the bed. 

"Fuliciana!" Lancelot exclaimed, struggling to get out of bed. Arthur hastened to stop him. "We have to help her! She is in trouble! We must save her!"

"Lancelot," Arthur said patiently. "It was only a dream."

"She was screaming," Lancelot said frantically. "She was in pain."

He looked at Arthur, and Arthur was surprised to see the blatant fear in his friend's eyes.

"It was only a dream," he said again. "Do not worry."

_You must save her!_

Tristan's voice would not fade from Lancelot's mind. It repeated itself over and over. Lancelot tried again to stand from his bed, but Arthur held him back.

"Lancelot!" he exclaimed. "Stop this! Fuliciana is well!"

"You must make certain!" Lancelot exclaimed. "Please."

Arthur sighed and stood from his chair.

"I will visit Fuliciana," he said. "And if she is in any danger, then I will save her from it."

Lancelot nodded quickly and waved Arthur out.

"Go as fast as you can!" he exclaimed. Arthur sighed and shook his head as he walked out. As soon as the door closed behind him, Lancelot heaved a great sigh of relief, and Tristan's voice faded into silence.

* * *

Arthur stepped into Fuliciana's room with a heavy sigh. He saw Guinevere standing by the bedside, and Galahad was asleep across the room in a chair that leaned against the wall. 

"Guinevere," he said with a smile, planning on sharing his story with her. She started in surprise and whirled around to reveal that it was not Guinevere, but a young serving woman who Arthur did not know.

"No, my king," she said with a polite curtsey.

"Do you know where she has gone?"

"No, my king," replied the girl.

"Very well," Arthur said with a sigh. The girl dropped another curtsey and pushed past Arthur. Arthur sighed and walked towards Fuliciana, checking to make sure that she was still breathing before he turned to go back to keep watch over Lancelot.

As he was turning, however, something caught his eye. He bent down to Fuliciana's bed and picked it up, turning it over in his hands before shrugging and taking it with him as he walked out the door.

* * *

Arthur re-entered Lancelot's room sometime later to find that Lancelot was sitting up, waiting impatiently. 

"Is she well?" he asked nervously. Arthur nodded with a smile.

"She is well," he replied. "In fact, Galahad was watching her."

Arthur neglected to mention that Galahad was sleeping. He thought that it would be for the best if he didn't mention it.

"Are you certain she is well?" Lancelot asked doubtfully. Arthur laughed.

"You sound as if you _want _something to happen to her," he said. Lancelot shot him a look that clearly told him he was mistaken.

"I just…" Lancelot sighed and looked down at his hands, which were gripping the edges of his blanket in a white-knuckled grip. "This dream…it was so real. And, Tristan was telling me she was in trouble, but I ignored him…"

"Lancelot," Arthur said gently. "There is nothing to worry about. Oh, and I found this by Fuliciana's bed. I assume it is hers."

Arthur pulled out the object he had found earlier, and he passed it to Lancelot carefully. Lancelot took it in his hands and stared at it blankly, an expression of utter horror coming over his face at once.

He held in his hands a long, curved blade with a smooth, white hilt. Engraved in the blade was his name, in flowery woman's writing.

"Lancelot?" Arthur asked, concerned at his friend's reaction.

But Lancelot could not speak. He could only stare at the blade in terror and wonder what it meant.

* * *

**Individual thanks**

**Jemiul: **Well, Guinevere's a bit of a worrier. Maybe it's for no reason…maybe it's not. Who knows…well, except me anyway. I know all! Haha.

**Chiefhow: **I figured I'd slip a little bit of information in there. I realized that nothing was really going in that chapter plot-wise, so I had a bit of Guin and Ganort. He's really not a nice man. I don't like him very much.

**Laura B.: **Yay! This chapter I got _four _reviews! I'm such a loser. I actually count my reviews. Glad you like the story!

**Camreyn: **Wow, this is going to take a while, isn't it! I'm glad you're back, and I hope you had a wonderful time in London! Seems like an awesome place to spend the holidays!

That idea with Fuliciana meeting Tristan on the other side was VERY good. I read it and thought 'now why didn't I think of that?' I did, however, incorporate Tristan some more into this chapter. I give you sole credit for the dream sequence, since it was you who gave me the idea in the first place.

I agree that Lancelot really needs to take it easy. Unfortunately, I see some more battles in the future for this story. I do feel sorry for what I shall have to put my dear knights and my two lovely Woads through, though.

I felt that it was time for Galahad to have some screen time. This is the beginning of a long series of touching Galahad moments. He is really a sweetheart in this story. I can't help but love him, though Lancelot will always be first in my heart.

Well, the psycho servant didn't visit Lancelot, but as you plainly see she did skip over to Fuliciana's room. Her name will come up in future chapters. I'll give you a hint; I did not make up the name. It is a name that is well known among lovers of Arthurian legend.

Guin's a little testy, as you can plainly see. She's got some issues with Lancelot that she _really _needs to work out, but she isn't having much luck so far. I foresee some sympathy on her part. Don't worry; her heart of ice will soon melt…or at least thaw a little.

As for what will happen next…well, you'll have to wait a couple of days to see!


	10. More Suspicions

Okay, here we are with Chapter 8! Hope you enjoy!

This chapter's a little fluffy and kind of character-building, rather than plot-forwarding. Oh well. That's not nessicarily a bad thing, is it?

Thanks to all my reviewers. You're all so faithful! I love it! Individual Thanks at the End, YAY!

Please remember to review again. You all know how much I love it.

* * *

**Chapter 8: More Suspicions**

Lancelot awoke sometime late in the night. He did not know if it was the same night he had fallen asleep, or if it were the night following that. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Arthur was not there where he was supposed to be, at Lancelot's bedside. Lancelot hoped that he was off eating something. The man tended to forget his own needs when Lancelot was injured.

Taking advantage of Arthur's absence, Lancelot sat up with a groan and stretched tentatively. When he felt no pain in his leg resulting from the movement, he tried moving his leg hesitantly. Throbbing pain pulsed through it, starting at the thigh and moving down to the ankle. He winced but threw the covers back nevertheless, placing his uninjured foot gently on the ground. Then, slowly and carefully, he let his other foot join it.

After a few minutes of practicing the best way to walk without being hurt, Lancelot staggered over to the chair across the room and slipped on his clothes, even putting on his boots; though that took considerably longer than he had hoped it would. Once finished, he hobbled over to the door, using the wall for support, panting heavily with the strain that it took to get himself across the room.

Skillfully maneuvering the door, Lancelot chuckled to himself with satisfaction when he finally closed the door behind him, and he was out in the dark hallway. He knew that he had to be as quiet as possible, so as not to attract any attention, but his body didn't seem to want to respond. He even tripped over a bench, sending himself sprawling and cursing to the ground. It took a long while for him to get back to his feet after that.

He didn't know how long it took him to reach Fuliciana's door, but it was long enough that he was certain Arthur would soon be looking for him. He had to get into that room, no matter what.

So he threw open the door and stepped onto the soft, crimson rug, sighing with content and relief as he saw Fuliciana sleeping peacefully across the room, her pale face lit by a dim candle. Upon inspection of the room, Lancelot saw that there was no one else with he and his lover. His smile grew.

limping across the room to Fuliciana's bedside, he finally collapsed into a chair, wincing as his injured leg hit against the bed painfully. He sucked in a breath of air and made a small noise of pain. Then, his own hurts forgotten, he stared down at Fuliciana as if he had never seen anything so perfect. And, to tell the truth, he hadn't.

He gently reached out and let his hand rest on Fuliciana's cheek; his large tan fingers a startling contrast to her delicate white skin. His fingers moved through her mass of wavy curls, his eyes glued to her, trying to take every feature of her face in.

Suddenly, her eyes opened.

* * *

"Why do you not trust him?"

Guinevere sighed. Arthur had reacted to her suspicions just as she had thought he would, and that certainly wasn't what she wanted.

"It's not that I do not trust him…as a man," she said slowly. "I just do not trust him with Fuliciana. For he has her emotions cupped in his hand, Arthur. If he discards them for another pretty face…"

Arthur was shaking his head, looking at the ground. Guinevere let her unfinished sentence hang in the air.

"You have not known Lancelot for as long as I have," Arthur said slowly. "My beautiful wife, you insult me with your mistrust. He is a reflection of my soul in every way. I know you cannot understand. No one does. I only ask you to consider this: Lancelot's smile has never carried to his eyes unless he was near me. Now, I see it around Fuliciana as well. He would never harm her."

"That does not mean anything," Guinevere said, and Arthur was surprised at the harshness in her voice.

"It may not mean anything to you," he said angrily. "But it does to me."

Guinevere sighed and crossed to the window, looking out at the dark fields below with a pensive frown on her face.

"I do not wish her to be hurt," Guinevere said slowly. "I fear for her every day Arthur. I fear for her safety and her happiness. My greatest wish is to see her happy. She has suffered so much in her life."

"Has she not been happy with Lancelot?" Arthur asked pointedly. Guinevere shot him a look. "Do not look at me as if I am a fool, Guinevere. Just because I trust in Lancelot and you do not, it does not mean that I am wrong and you are right."

Again, Guinevere glared. Arthur sighed and stood, crossing to the window and taking her hands in his, seating himself beside her on the sill.

"Arthur…" Guinevere began, but Arthur shushed her gently.

"Guinevere, if you do not trust Lancelot, then trust me when I say that I will make certain that he does not harm Fuliciana. He will not harm her, ever, with or without my guidance, but if it makes you feel better, I will talk with him."

"That will not make a difference!" Guinevere exclaimed. She tried to jump up, but Arthur's grip tightened, and she could not pull free.

"Then _trust me_," Arthur said with deadly cold. "Guinevere, my wife. My queen. I love you. You must understand that Fuliciana is a sister to me. I would never have her harmed. Trust me. Trust _him_."

Guinevere sighed and hung her head. Arthur reached out and brushed a brown strand of hair out of his wife's face. She gently raised her eyes to look at him, clearly ashamed. He smiled and gently brushed his lips against hers.

"I will try," Guinevere whispered, angry that such weakness came over her when all that Arthur had done was merely give her a meager kiss. "I will try to…trust him."

"Good," Arthur murmured, pulling Guinevere close to him and gently kissing her hair. "That is all I ask."

* * *

"Lancelot?" Fuliciana whispered the name reverently, as if Lancelot were a god. Lancelot smiled softly and caressed her cheek again.

"Fuliciana," he repeated. Fuliciana smiled contentedly and started to sit up, but Lancelot laughed and pushed her back.

"If I have to lie down when injured, so do you," he said chidingly. Fuliciana sighed, but she was smiling, and she lay back obediently, taking Lancelot's hand in her own.

"What happened?" she asked. Her brow creased and her eyes widened in fear. "The others? Guinevere? Arthur? Galahad? Gaw…"

"They're all well," Lancelot said softly, and Fuliciana sighed with relief. "At the last moment, the Woads came out of the woods and slaughtered the Saxon army.

Fuliciana smiled and looked up at Lancelot lovingly.

"So we defeated them?" she asked. "The Saxons?"

"Yes," Lancelot said. "Arthur tells me that a few of them escaped, running into the woods with their tails between their legs. He says your father is eager to hunt them down."

"Arthur told you?" Fuliciana asked, while Lancelot sighed and marveled at her perceptiveness.

"Yes," he said. "I was injured as well."

Fuliciana's eyes widened, and this time he wasn't able to keep her lying flat, as she fussed over him and checked him over for injuries. When she saw his resting with his leg out to the side instead of bent, she glared at him viciously.

"You came here though you were injured?" she asked incredulously. "Lancelot!"

"You and Arthur both think alike," Lancelot groaned. "Would you rather that I were not here, and you had awoken alone?"

"If it meant that you did not have to go through the pain of coming to my room," Fuliciana replied pointedly. Lancelot couldn't help the laugh that escaped his throat, and he absently let one hand rest on her arm, the other traveling down to her waist. She sighed and shook her head, eyes narrowed.

"I know your aim," she said softly. "You wish to make me forget that you are wounded by seducing me again."

Lancelot shrugged in reply.

"You are a strong woman, my love," he replied. "But when it comes to me, you are weak as a newborn foal."

"Weak?" Fuliciana asked with false surprise. "Weak? Lancelot, if either of us is _weak, _it is you. You know that you could not live a day without me by your side."

"I do know it," Lancelot said seriously, surprising Fuliciana. "And that is why I came here."

Fuliciana smiled softly at him, her face filled with love. She gently reached up and ran her long, thin fingers through his beautiful curls.

"Oh, Lancelot," she sighed.

"Lay back," Lancelot said gently, pushing Fuliciana back onto the bed. He leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lover's lips, and when he pulled away, she bit her lip, savoring the taste. "You took care of me after Badon Hill. Now it is my turn to take care of you."

Fuliciana smiled and reached out for Lancelot's hand. He placed it in hers willingly, and he smiled in return, knowing that he had found his Heaven at last.

* * *

Arthur stood in the doorway and smiled at the sight in front of him. He had gone nearly mad with fear when he saw that Lancelot was not in his bed, but it had all melted away when he saw Lancelot seated by Fuliciana's bedside. The man really was too stubborn for his own good.

Arthur turned and saw a woman standing behind him. In the shadows, she looked startlingly like Fuliciana. Once she emerged into the light, however, he saw that she was far less pretty. Though she certainly wasn't ugly, Fuliciana's beauty shone far greater.

"My king," she said meekly. Arthur recognized her as the girl who had been in Fuliciana's room when Lancelot had awoken from that dream. He nodded and smiled. The girl looked into the room, and Arthur was surprised to see her eyes narrow as she stared at the pair within. Without another word, she turned and strode down the hall with a flash of skirts.

"She used to be Lancelot's favorite," remarked Galahad, startling Arthur so greatly that he very nearly jumped in surprise. He looked at his knight in surprise. Galahad was hiding in the shadows next to the door. Arthur wondered how long his knight had been there.

"What?" he asked.

"The girl," Galahad said as Arthur gently closed the door to Fuliciana's room. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. "Lancelot used to give her all sorts of trinkets and what-not. She was his favorite."

"That explains the glare," Arthur said with a small smile. Galahad laughed.

"Yes, it does," he said. "She refuses to sleep with anyone other than Lancelot, and we all know that _that _isn't going to happen."

Galahad gestured towards the closed door for effect. Arthur smiled happily, glad that someone beside himself had noticed the happiness that radiated from Lancelot and Fuliciana.

"I wonder when they will marry," he mused aloud. Galahad snorted.

"I do not know, but it will be soon," he remarked. "Fuliciana and Vanora were discussing it before the mission. Guinevere doesn't seem too happy about it."

Arthur feigned surprise.

"What makes you say that?" he asked. Galahad laughed.

"Don't try to hide it from me," he said as if insulted. "Do not worry, Arthur. Everyone notices it."

Arthur sighed and hung his head. When he looked back up at Galahad, the younger knight wasn't surprised to see despair in those dark depths.

"Everyone?" he asked timidly.

"Yes," Galahad said softly.

"Lancelot?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know," Galahad replied. "He doesn't seem too, but it could be just an act. We all know how good Lancelot is at acting."

Arthur snorted, remembering a time, long ago, when Lancelot had been chosen to cause a diversion for a party of Woads so the others could rescue their captives. He had put on a very convincing act of a crazed man. The knights had been forced to try hard to keep their laughter at bay despite the harrowing situation.

"Do you think…do you think he could be acting… about his love for Fuliciana?" Arthur asked. Galahad snorted incredulously.

"Do you kid?" he asked. "Not even Lancelot is that good. The man is obsessed."

Arthur smiled again, and Galahad marveled at what an effect so few words had on his commander.

"Then you do think that he truly loves Fuliciana?" Arthur asked.

"With all his heart," Galahad replied. "Why? Has Guinevere been attempting to convince you otherwise?"

Arthur's silence was answer enough. Galahad sighed and turned to face Arthur completely, moving a step or two closer to the older man. Arthur repressed the urge to take a step back under Galahad's piercing stare.

"He is _Lancelot,_" Galahad said pointedly. "You have known him for fifteen years. You have been his closest friend for only a small amount less. I have _never _seen a friendship like the one that the two of you have. _Never_. You have known Guinevere for a little under a year, and yet you allow her to plant these doubts in your mind? That is not the Arthur I know; the Arthur who would die to protect the honor of every one of us Sarmatian knights. Do not let her take you from him." Galahad's gaze suddenly dropped, and he looked at the ground with a sigh. "Do not let the friendship die. Your friendship gives us all hope, day by day, and makes the call of our home grow fainter. Seeing the two of you together makes us realize that we can never go home. If you two were to fall apart because of silly suspicions and unfounded doubts…I do not know what the rest of us would do."

Arthur's eyes were wide with wonder at Galahad's speech. The young man had always been impetuous and hardly ever listened to reason. How was it that he was the only one who made sense when Arthur was so confused? Well, he and Lancelot, but in this case, Lancelot didn't help much.

"You are right, Galahad," he said vacantly. "I have let my doubts take hold of me, and I have let my suspicions grow. I must speak with Guinevere and tell her what you have told me. Perhaps then she will understand."

"You should," Galahad said simply. "I will stay here and watch over our two wounded lovers."

"Good," Arthur said, and he started off down the hall. Galahad stood at the door for a while before finally turning and sitting down, his back against the wall. Far down the hall, he heard the sounds of Arthur talking, and the dainty chimes of Guinevere's voice responding. Galahad smiled to himself and listened as Arthur's steady voice murmured out the thoughts that Galahad had just helped him realize he had.

* * *

"Will you leave me tonight?" Fuliciana asked sleepily. Lancelot's head rested above hers on the pillow, and he had pulled her into a comfortable embrace. He smiled at her fears.

"No," he said simply. "Unless they knock me out and drag me back to my room, and even then I'll put up a fight."

Fuliciana smiled slowly and shook her head.

"Sometimes I think you love me _too _much," she said. Lancelot laughed.

"Sometimes, I think the same thing," he replied. "But I would not say that was unfortunate."

* * *

**Individual Thanks**

**Chiefhow: **Haha, good thing you've got gorgeous Lance being confused as well. That makes your confusion all the less confusing!

**Jemiul: **The idea of the dream kind of just came to me after something Camreyn said about Fuliciana meeting Tristan on the other side. That, and I have weird dreams like this all the time, so I thought it was fitting. Glad you liked it!

**Laura B.: **Awesome! More reviews! Haha, I love reviewers. Could you all tell?

**Gwyn: **Yay! I'm not alone! Goodie! Ick, school. I'm going to school like…now. (I'm supposed to be downstairs right now, but I'm finishing this chappie up. Hehehe.)

**Sweet A.K.: **Glad you liked it! I'm also glad all of you liked that dream. Yay!


	11. Revelations

Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I was lacking in inspiration for a while there! Haha, sorry about that!

I got so many reviews for this chapter (at least by my standards I go a ton!) I was so excited! I was even in a good mood in my History class! So now you guys know you _really _made my day!

So, thanks again. You know I wuv you all! Please remember to review again, and I shall wuv you harder!

Individual thanks at the end, as always!

* * *

**Chapter 10: Revelations**

Guinevere stood silently in the doorway, watching as Lancelot gently stroked her sister's hair and whispered assuring words to her sleeping form. She almost smiled at the childish innocence that the handsome man exuded as he played with the luxurious silky waves. Fuliciana's face was turned towards him, and though her eyes were closed and she was clearly sleeping, it almost looked as though she was hearing him, for she wore a content smile.

Guinevere stepped into the room silently, holding her skirts daintily so as not to make any noise. She wasn't quiet enough, however, for Lancelot heard her and turned around to face her with a smile.

"Guinevere!" he exclaimed. "Arthur told me that you'd be visiting today."

Guinevere smiled sadly and took a seat on the bed, staring at Lancelot with so much intensity that he couldn't help but feel slightly frightened.

"You do not know why I am here, do you?" she asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

"Unless it is to check on the well-being of your sister, then no," Lancelot said, suddenly serious. Guinevere smiled inwardly to herself. He knew more than he gave himself credit for.

"You know why I am here," she said. Lancelot chuckled humorlessly to himself.

"A moment ago you were certain that I had no idea why you were here. Now you think I do?"

"Yes," Guinevere said simply. She stood and walked to the window, peeking out the blinds with a small sigh, taking in the countryside. Lancelot waited uneasily for her to turn around. He knew that his queen's silence was just the calm before the storm.

"Well," he started after the silence grew. He was going to try to make a joke about something or other, but Guinevere interrupted before he could even think of what to say.

"Do you love her?" she asked, whirling to face Lancelot so suddenly that he was surprised she didn't fall.

"Who?" he asked with confusion. "Fuliciana?"

"Yes, Fuliciana!" Guinevere exclaimed with exasperation, throwing up her hands and stalking towards Lancelot with purposeful strides. Lancelot hated to admit to himself that he was afraid for his own safety. "Who else would I be asking after?"

"I don't know," Lancelot said, trying to seem at least outwardly calm. "I just thought the answer to that was too obvious." He grinned roguishly at Guinevere. "I was expecting something harder."

Guinevere's nostrils were flaring, he noticed, as the two of them engaged in a brutal stare-down contest which was made hard for Lancelot due to the fact that he was seated and unable to stand. It felt, to him, as if she was trying to pry his inner thoughts out of his brain with her eyes, and it was beginning to frighten him greatly.

Without warning, she turned on her heel and huffed towards the door with a swish of her skirts. Lancelot thought with relief that she was leaving, but she only slammed the door closed and turned back. He tried to surpass a sigh of disappointment, but she noticed it.

"I am her sister," Guinevere started, standing a few feet away from Lancelot. "And because I am her sister, I have her very best interests in mind always. Do you understand?"

"Very clearly," Lancelot replied.

"But I don't think you do," Guinevere replied cryptically. Lancelot sighed and just barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Will you just tell me what you mean?" he asked. Guinevere sighed and perched at the end of the bed, tilting her head to one side as she regarded him quietly.

"My sister has been in love once before," she said calmly. At Lancelot's expression of surprise, she smiled slightly. "I did not think she would tell you. She does not like speaking of him. His name was Vatagona. He was the son of a general in my father's army. They were very in love, but he was cruel to her, and I was the only one who noticed. I tried to tell her to leave him, but she would not. She claimed that she loved him and that she would die for him if the need arose."

Lancelot looked at the ground quietly, and gently reached out to take Fuliciana's hand as she slumbered peacefully.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, and Guinevere could see that this news was upsetting him greatly.

"We were in battle with a band of our own people who challenged Merlin's authority. Vatagona fell, and he was about to die when Fuliciana intervened. She had had little training at that time, and was not prepared for battle, but she fought bravely. She lasted far longer than I expected, but eventually she fell. I feared that she was dead, but when the battle was over, it was revealed that she was still alive, if barely.

"Vatagona did not stay with her long after that. It was thought that she would not live long, and so he left her. I think he found another woman. When Fuliciana awoke, she asked for him, and I was the one who had to tell her that he would not be coming back."

Lancelot looked up at Guinevere with incredulous eyes, a scowl on his handsome features.

"Why do you tell me this?" he asked, and Guinevere was surprised at the anger in his voice. "Do you expect me to be like this other man and leave her because she is not well? Do you really expect me to walk away from this? From what we have? Are you that big of a fool that you would accuse me of not loving her?"

Guinevere's mouth dropped open indignantly, but Lancelot could not care. He was too enraged that she had dared to imply that he did not love Fuliciana. He felt a familiar anger building inside him, and he pushed himself up, frowning frightfully at her.

"I don't want her hurt again," Guinevere said, looking calm outwardly. Lancelot knew better. She was frightened of him, and he knew that he could use that to his advantage.

"You don't want her hurt again?" he asked pointedly. "_Neither do I_."

"You are very like Vatagona in your treatment of women."

"Am I? Really? For if I was so like this Vatagona, then I would not be sitting here, would I?"

He did not have to mention that he had stumbled all the way down the hall on a wounded leg to see Fuliciana. He knew that Guinevere would remember it.

"Listen to me, Lancelot!" Guinevere exclaimed in a harsh whisper, leaning forward. Her eyes glinted dangerously. "If you do not want Fuliciana to be harmed, then listen very carefully to me. If you hurt her…then I will be certain that you will regret it."

"Fine," Lancelot said. Guinevere leaned back, looking surprised. "I will not hurt her."

Guinevere sighed and stood.

"I know," she said wearily.

"Then why come here and bother me about it?"

Their voices had gone from angry and hurt to sad and questioning in a matter of a few seconds.

"You have to understand, Lancelot," pleaded Guinevere, and Lancelot was surprised to hear the desperation in the young woman's voice. "Fuliciana is the dearest thing to me. When she hurts, I feel as if the world is breaking. I know you cannot understand…"

"You assume too much," said Lancelot with a crooked smile. Guinevere just looked at him questioningly, waiting for him to continue. He sighed and ruffled his hair for a bit before finally answering. "I have felt the same for Arthur. He has been my friend and brother for fifteen years now, Guinevere. I am closer to him than any spirit, and he is constantly hurting inside. Therefore, I am constantly hurting inside as well."

He opened his arms and smiled at Guinevere, though it was not a moment that called for a smile. Guinevere smiled as well, but Lancelot could clearly see the tears glimmering in her eyes. He knew that this was a rare moment; a moment when the queen would allow her real feelings to show through the mask of tough emotions that she kept constantly on her face.

"It seems that we understand one another better than we first thought," Guinevere mused, and Lancelot laughed.

"It would seem that way," he said. "Though I think it would be more accurate to say that we understand one another's motives."

Guinevere smiled and stood up, easing Lancelot back into his chair gently.

"Just do not hurt her, and we will not have any problems," she said sweetly. She felt Lancelot tense, and he turned to watch her as she started to walk out of the room. When she was at the door, he spoke up.

"Do not hurt Arthur, and I will not have a problem with you either," he said. Guinevere faltered for a moment, but a second later the door slammed resoundingly behind her. Lancelot just turned his attentions back on Fuliciana, trying not to let Guinevere's words get under his skin. But everything was quiet, and there wasn't much else to think of.

* * *

Galahad didn't move from his hiding place in the shadows as Guinevere burst angrily out of the room and stormed down the hallway, muttering to herself. He only frowned thoughtfully. The despair in both of their voices had been disconcerting to him. He had thought that in the months since Badon Hill, everyone had been content and peaceful. Learning that there had been simmering resentment all that time came as a surprise to his young mind.

He pushed himself away from the wall and peered into Fuliciana's room. Lancelot was hunched over his lover, his shoulders shaking. Galahad swiftly exited the room and stood with his back against the wall, shaken and afraid. Lancelot was crying. _Lancelot_. Wondering how he had missed this tragedy unfolding, he started down the hall. He needed to find Gawain.

* * *

_"Tristan?"_

_"Yes, Fulci. I'm here."_

_Fuliciana turned and saw Tristan standing behind her, a sad smile on his face. She smiled in return, tilting her head to one side. _

_"Why are you here?" she asked. _

_"I need to tell you something," Tristan said. He did not move from where he stood, and Fuliciana decided that it would be better to remain where she was as well. _

_"What?" she asked curiously. _

_"You must…"_

_He was cut off as a sharp screech came from the darkness surrounding them. Fuliciana covered her ears and screamed as well, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain of the noise._

_She thought that the scream would never end, but after a time, it gradually faded. When she unclenched her hands and opened her eyes, Tristan was gone, and a cold chill swept through the blackness. _

_"T…Tristan?" she called out hesitantly, but there was no answer.

* * *

_

Fuliciana opened her eyes. Lancelot sat beside her bedside, and she could see that he had tears in his eyes. Concerned, she moved to sit up, but Lancelot looked up and stopped her. Almost instantly, the tears in his eyes had gone completely. She smiled slightly. He was good at hiding his emotions.

"Lancelot?" she said softly, reaching a hand up to caress his handsome face. "Why were you crying?"

"Nothing, love," Lancelot said with a small sigh. "Just…memories."

"Memories?" Fuliciana asked, and she stopped caressing abruptly. "What sort of memories?"

"Nothing," Lancelot said again. "Something that I'd rather not…know…remember."

"Are you all right?" Fuliciana asked worriedly, and Lancelot shot her a small smile, taking her hand and kissing it lovingly.

"I am," he whispered, and he bent down to grace her lips with a kiss. "Now, I am."

Fuliciana smiled.

"I'm glad," she whispered, and Lancelot smiled.

"Good," he said. "Now, sleep some more, love."

Fuliciana smiled as she closed her eyes and tugged Lancelot's hand close to her. The dream had all but faded from her mind, but she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something was wrong. Finally, after a long time of contemplating what it could be, she drifted off into a restless, dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Individual Thanks:**

**Chiefhow: **I'm glad I made you happy! And I think you spelled nemesis right…but I suck at spelling so, you know, I'm probably wrong too!

**Sweet A.K.: **Haha, I hadn't even really thought about that in my head, but Lancelot pretending to be crazy would be pretty funny. Maybe I will write a story about that. I don't know…I'm not very good with witty humor. If anyone wants to write a story about that, feel free! (I love Galahad in that chapter too. He's so adorable and yet manly.)

**Camreyn: **Yeah, Lancelot didn't seem like the type to sit around quietly while wounded. I, too, would love to see him fall like that, but I would probably want to give him a huge hug! Yes, Arthur most definitely was the voice of reason in that chapter. I think the man might be the voice of reason in general. He certainly is level-headed. Even the voice of reason needs their own voice of reason, I guess, and Arthur certainly has that in Galahad.

**Jemiul: **Well, now everything about Lancelot/Guinevere is explained! Yay! Glad you liked it. (Just thought I'd mention that I really like your name. It's very pretty. I just realized it while typing it out)

**Laura B.: **Guinevere _should _trust Lancelot! What's there not to trust?

**Szhismine: **Yay! I'm so glad you like my fic! It makes me all bubbly inside to read your review!

**BrokenSkye: **Yes, the servant lady and her similarities with Fuliciana may come into play later. I haven't decided yet. (Haha, probably shouldn't be admitting that!) Lil sis is on her way, don't worry!

**Mollziki: **Yay! You like it too! I'm so glad! I was so excited when you reviewed all the chapters! So nice of you to take time out of your busy life to review for me! hugs Fank oo so much!


	12. Friendship

Here's chapter 11

SO sorry for the delay! I'm so ashamed! I was just really, really busy. I meant to get this chapter up before I had midterms, but that just didn't work out (damn writers block!) so, I had to wait until today (at 11:30 at night) to get this up! Argh! Again, I apologize profusely.

Thanks as always to those of you who reviewed, and individual thanks at the end as always.

* * *

**Chapter 11: **Friendship

"Fuliciana!" Vanora exclaimed, running to the younger woman and giving her a hug.

"Careful," Fuliciana warned, though she had a smile on her face as she said the word.

"Should you be out of bed?" Vanora asked scoldingly. "Somehow, I think that you're probably not supposed to be up and about just yet."

"Lancelot fell asleep," Fuliciana admitted with a sly grin spreading over her face. "I felt terrible leaving him there, though. He looks like an angel when he sleeps."

"Lancelot? An angel? Perhaps we're not speaking of the same man."

The two women laughed, and Vanora began wiping the bar clean. She motioned for her friend to take a seat.

"Oh, we're speaking of the same man," Fuliciana said, daintily lifting her skirts as she perched herself on the chair. "You just haven't seen him out of his clothes."

Vanora laughed and placed her hands on her hips.

"Well," she said. "Thank the gods, for if I had, then Bors would have killed him long ago."

Fuliciana laughed and nodded in agreement.

"I should really sneak you in when he is sleeping one night," she said. "Then you would have to agree with me that he has the innocence of an angel in his face."

"The looks of an angel, but the heart of a devil," remarked Vanora. Fuliciana gasped in mock offense.

"Surely you are not speaking ill of my lover!" she exclaimed. Vanora laughed.

"Oh, I'm just saying things to keep your dearest out of trouble with Bors," she replied.

"Well, I appreciate your efforts," Fuliciana chuckled. "Where is everyone this morning? You're the first soul I've seen since leaving my room."

"Arthur and Guinevere came down earlier," Vanora said thoughtfully. "Bors, Galahad, and Gawain are training the children…and I believe everyone else is indoors. It _is _rather early."

"I know," Fuliciana said with a grin. "But I knew this was my only chance to get away. I needed to get up and walk around. I'm feeling better."

"The famous words of many a dead warrior," Vanora pointed out, throwing down her rag and leaning her elbows on the counter, smiling at the younger woman.

"I know. I know I need rest," Fuliciana groaned. "I just _hate _being locked in that room day after day! It's getting smaller every time I open my eyes!"

Vanora laughed and walked around the counter, pulling Fuliciana into a hug.

"I'll let you stay here," she said. "But only until Lancelot comes to get you. Then you're off to bed."

"Thank you," Fuliciana said sweetly. Vanora groaned.

"I never could deny those big blue eyes of yours anything!" she exclaimed. "Do you want anything? Water? Ale, even?"

"No, thank you," Fuliciana laughed. "I'm fine."

* * *

"Arthur?"

Arthur turned and saw Guinevere standing behind him with a concerned expression on her face.

"Yes?" he asked, leaning his back against the wall and smiling. Guinevere didn't buy the falsely nonchalant expression, and she placed her hands on her hips, taking a few steps forward before stopping and regarding him with her head tilted to one side.

"You're getting the dreams too," she said suddenly. Arthur looked at her in surprise, and his expression gave everything away. "I thought so."

"How did you know?" he asked wearily.

"Fuliciana has spoken to me of them on several occasions. She says that Lancelot has them too."

"I don't understand it," Arthur said weakly. "Why would I get these dreams? Why now?"

"What is in the dreams?" Guinevere asked after a pause. Arthur looked at her and shrugged uncomfortably.

"Pain," he said after a moment. "A lot of pain. Sadness. Tristan. Always, Tristan is there. He's trying to speak, but I can't hear him. I'm too busy fighting something I can't see. That's all I can remember, really. There's not much else."

He turned and looked out over the plains that seemed to extend forever. He had always found peace in those endless green grasses; now more than ever. He heard Guinevere shift behind him, and then she was there, beside him, her hand on his arm gently.

"I know this is hard for you to understand," she said gently. "Your religion does not teach of these dreams. But trust me when I say that these dreams are premonitions of what is to come. You say that Tristan is always in them. Arthur, Tristan is sending you these dreams for a reason. He is sending you these dreams to warn you of something."

"What?" Arthur asked incredulously, turning to look at his wife. "You think that…"

"I do not think, Arthur," Guinevere interrupted him. "I _know_."

Arthur sighed and turned to face the plains once again. Guinevere patted him once on the arm before turning and walking down the stairs into the courtyard. She knew when it was better to leave Arthur alone. He would, no doubt, want to think of what he had just been told. She knew that it would take him a while before he could accept that what she was saying was the truth, but he would accept it eventually. He had to.

* * *

_"Tristan?"_

_Lancelot didn't understand. There was no one there. He was alone in the blackness. It was unlike any dream that he had ever had. There was nothing there. There was no beginning and no end, only black. He looked down, and all he saw was blackness. He was standing on blackness._

_"Tristan?"_

_Nothing. He decided to raise his voice, and he yelled the name again. As soon as the name left his mouth, he heard something in the distance, rushing towards him. He looked around in all directions, but there was nothing. _

* * *

Suddenly, a great, screeching noise surrounded him, and a strong wind ruffled his hair. They were voices. Hundreds upon thousands of them calling out for mercy, screaming for help.

"Tristan!" he yelled, but the wind continued to blow, bringing the sounds of battle. The roar and the screaming off innocent people dimmed, and he could hear the clang of metal on metal, and could feel the heat of a fire on his face. He was burning, dying, fading…

"Tristan!"

Lancelot awoke with a start, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat. His heart was pounding and his head still rang with the sounds of all those people screaming.

His eyes fell on the empty bed in front of him, and all thoughts of the dream were forgotten as a sharp jab of fear struck his heart. Getting to his feet with surprising quickness, he scanned the entire room, searching for Fuliciana. When he did not find her, he hurriedly limped towards the door, gritting his teeth with every step, cursing her similarity to him and her stubbornness.

"Lancelot?"

Lancelot turned and saw Galahad standing in the shadows by the door.

"She's gone," Lancelot said pointedly.

"I know," Galahad said.

"You didn't stop her?" Lancelot asked angrily.

"No," Galahad replied simply. Lancelot's eyes narrowed.

"Why not?" he asked. Galahad shrugged.

"Weak as she is, I wouldn't have been able to stop her, had I wanted to. She's a stubborn girl, Lancelot. She's much like you, in fact."

Lancelot glowered at the younger knight angrily.

"She is wounded!" he exclaimed desperately, and Galahad couldn't help but wonder inside if he had done the right thing in letting the girl leave.

"Vanora will look after her," Galahad replied. "She knows better than all of us what to do with the wounded."

Lancelot sighed, knowing that Galahad was right. He couldn't shake the worried feeling, however, especially after that disconcerting dream.

"What are you doing out here?" Lancelot asked the young man.

"Watching out for the two of you," Galahad replied, and he stepped forward into the light. Lancelot could see that he had dark circles under his eyes, as if he had not been sleeping. He wondered how long the man had been out there. "Lancelot?"

"Yes?"

"Is everything right between you and the queen?"

Lancelot looked in surprise at Galahad. Galahad's face was stoic and unemotional, but the expression in his eyes suggested that there was something hidden there; some emotion that Lancelot couldn't quite place.

"Yes," Lancelot said simply. "Now it is…I think."

Galahad smiled and tried unsuccessfully to hide a sigh of relief. Lancelot grinned in return. He had noticed a change of late in Galahad, as if the boy was finally growing up. He had been slower than the rest of them to mature, and even emotionally he was still reasonably unstable. Still, he had been acting more his age recently, and Lancelot couldn't help but feel a fatherly pride, though he was only a few years older than the man himself.

"I'm going to find her," Lancelot said after a pause. Galahad grinned.

"I thought you might want to do that," he remarked. "I'll go with you. The last thing we need is you falling down the stairs and breaking something."

"Fuliciana is more wounded than I. Why didn't you follow her?"

"Because Fuliciana is graceful, Lancelot. You never did have the surest feet, even when you were well."

Lancelot shot Galahad a glare, and the younger man laughed playfully. Despite himself, Lancelot smiled slightly. He had to admit, in his head, that Galahad was right. He really hadn't ever been the most graceful of people.

"Come on," he said, shaking his head and trying to fight down the twitching laugh that was starting at the corners of his mouth. "The sooner we find her, the better."

Galahad laughed again, and the two of them started down the hall.

* * *

"I'm surprised he hasn't made his way down here yet," remarked Vanora as the two sat at the bar, chatting idly.

"As am I," Fuliciana laughed. "No doubt he's still sleeping. And he tells me I need rest?"

"He was probably up the whole night watching you," Vanora pointed out.

"Very true," Fuliciana said tenderly. "And I love him for it. I really do."

"Of course you do," Vanora said with a smile. "But how are you feeling? Tired yet? Is the wound aching?"

Fuliciana gingerly patted her side.

"Not yet," she laughed. "Oddly enough, I feel perfectly fine."

"How do you and Lancelot always manage to escape death by a hair's breadth?" Vanora asked with a small smile, shaking her head in wonder. "The two of you always manage to get wounded severely, yet you escape and are well only days later."

"The gods only know why," Fuliciana said with a sad sigh, and Vanora knew she was thinking of Tristan and Dagonet. Vanora herself was thinking of all the men before them; the men who had slowly disappeared from the taverns as the years went by. Dagonet and Tristan were the last in a long line of honorable men who fell to the enemy.

Yet, the others had fallen to the woads. The woads, who had become their allies of late. The queen was a woad. Vanora's closest friend was a woad. It was a lot for the woman to handle; hating a particular race for fifteen years, and suddenly being forced to accept them as friends. It wasn't hard, however, to forget that Guinevere and Fuliciana were those people. They were so…well, different than she thought they would be.

"I'm glad you're here," she said suddenly. She expected Fuliciana to look confused, but the young woman only looked up lazily and smiled.

"Me too," she said gently, and Vanora knew that they had been thinking of the same things. She reached her hand across the counter and Fuliciana took it. The two women smiled, sharing a friendly moment of silence for the fallen knights before returning to their conversation as if nothing had happened.

* * *

**Individual Thanks:**

**Sweet A.K: **Galahad's so awesome. I like the way you described him. He does seem to know all the secrets, yet he has a childish, innocent, little brother quality to him, especially when around the other knights. Well, since Tristan and the noise hasn't been solved yet, I'm afraid I have to keep you in suspense a bit longer. Sorry again about not updating fast!

**Camreyn: **Yeah, Guin can be a little scary. I'm personally glad that that's semi-settled now. (though I predict massive unsettling in the very near future…) Yes, abusive boyfriends suck. It's because they suck that I threw Ful's old lover in there. Recent problems with a friend, etc.

I hoped you'd like Lance's little retort there. I thought it was pretty funny, actually. It certainly seemed like something he would do!

Galahad did know that Guinevere had a little but of a bad feeling towards Lancelot, but he didn't know the extent of it. He was just surprised that so much hate and anger had been building up, when he thought that everything was perfect. Him knowing about Guinevere's annoyance was kind of like the tip of the iceberg as far as the conflict went, and then he found out about all that other stuff beneath the tip, and it overwhelmed him. I know I didn't describe that well enough. There'll probably be more of that later.

Lancelot's a tough guy, but he has a soft side. He tries not to cry, he really does, but I guess he just can't help it sometimes, haha!

Glad you liked it! Sorry I didn't update sooner!

**Jemiul: **That's awesome about the name! Very sweet! Glad you liked the chapter, as always. About Lancelot: he was referring to what Guinevere had told him. I never really elaborated on why he was crying, but I kind of pictured him crying because he felt so horrible for Fuliciana having to go through what she went through with that jerk of a lover. Thanks again for the review. You know it makes me feel special!

**Mollziki: **Yeah, these dreams are getting creepy, even to me. See, I really just write stuff as it pops into my head. There's no plan, though I do have a general plot I follow. So with the dreams, they just came to me after an idea that Camreyn shared, and I've been adding them to the plot until now they're one of the major plot points! Funny how that works out!

**Chiefhow: **well, here's another update, so you can be happy about this one as well! Yay! Yeah, Lancelot and Guin's semi-understanding is a good thing. (good way to describe it, by the way; I haven't got a better one.) They really need to work things out thoroughly, probably with Galahad as a debate moderator. Hmm…

Thanks again everyone! Big kisses!


	13. With Blood On Her Hands

Okay, there is _no _excuse for how long I have taken to write this chapter. (okay…well, there is. Midterms, projects, etc) But, wow. I mean…really, really late.

NOTE Okay, I'm just going to say that the inspiration for the dreams and stuff came from my favorite TV show, Lost. If you've seen the Claire-centric episode, you'll see the similarities in certain scenes. I just thought it went well with everything that was going on (and I'm obsessed with Lost, so..).

So, enjoy, and please remember to review. Individual thanks at the end. I love you guys!

* * *

**Chapter 12: **_With Blood on Her Hands_

Lancelot smiled to himself as he looked down on the sleeping figure of his lover. Her mouth was still twisted into that insolent smile that she had given to him when he had found her talking with Vanora in the tavern. He had intended on storming in there, angry and smoking at the ears, but when he saw that smile, he had simply laughed. Any smile of hers had always been able to transform his mood as rapidly as the weather.

"Lancelot?"

Lancelot turned and smiled broader as Arthur entered the room. Arthur seemed hesitant and unsure of himself; so unlike the Arthur that fought on the battlefield. Lancelot was used to this shy and careful Arthur. This was the Arthur who needed comforting and needed a strong shoulder to cry on. This Arthur was vulnerable and afraid, and never let anyone but Lancelot know what he was thinking. And this Arthur made Lancelot feel needed.

"Arthur," he said gently, smiling and gesturing to an empty chair beside the bed. "Come, sit. Why are you here so late?"

"It isn't so late that I can't visit you," Arthur said, shooting a small smile in Lancelot's direction. "I knew I would not be able to sleep later if I didn't."

"Then it was wise that you came," Lancelot replied, and Arthur smiled.

"It was," he said with a glance down at Fuliciana before his eyes darted back up to Lancelot's face. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much," Lancelot answered. "Now that she is."

"She's a strong girl," Arthur replied. "Much like her sister in that, actually.'

"Fortunately," Lancelot responded with a laugh. Arthur laughed as well, but Lancelot detected uneasiness there. He decided not to press the issue. He knew that Arthur would address his feelings later if he felt the need.

"Are you feeling any pain in your leg?"

"Not much," Lancelot said, unconsciously rubbing his thigh. "The healers say that I should be able to walk without a limp once the wound fully heals."

"Good," said Arthur with an audible sigh of relief. Lancelot smiled, and he knew that that was what Arthur had been waiting to hear.

"Don't worry about me so much," he said with a smile. "I can take care of myself quite wonderfully."

"Well," Arthur said thoughtfully. "You haven't died yet."

Lancelot laughed and patted his friend on the shoulder.

"That's right. I haven't," he replied.

"But you've come closer to it than I would have liked on several occasions," Arthur retorted, and Lancelot made a grimace of defeat.

"True enough," he admitted with a heavy sigh. "But I'm not the only one, Arthur. Remember that."

He gave Arthur a pointed look, and Arthur grimaced as well, though he had least tried to hide it. He knew which incident Lancelot was speaking of, and it was something that he would rather not discuss. Though, Arthur knew that Lancelot disliked speaking of it even more than he did.

"That was once," Arthur pointed out. "It never happened again after that."

"Yes, but when it happened; it was far worse than all of my brushes with death have ever been."

"No," Arthur said simply. "Remember Badon Hill, Lancelot."

Lancelot winced again, and Arthur almost smiled at the thought that with all the wincing and grimacing, they might as well have been having a fistfight. He wondered dimly if that would beat some sense into the other man.

He doubted it.

"I remember," Lancelot said quietly, and his hand gently reached out to clasp Fuliciana's. She snuggled deeper into the soft, white blankets and murmured something unintelligible that sounded absolutely adorable coming from the sleeping woman.

"So does she," Arthur pointed out. Lancelot shot him a look. He knew very well that Fuliciana had actually kept the crossbow bolt that had struck him down. She took it with her to every battle (though there had only been one _real _battle since Badon Hill). It was like a reverse good luck charm of sorts. Considering how the last battle had turned out, Lancelot wondered if he should consider hiding the thing from her.

"I know," he replied simply, his thumb gently moving over the back of her hand. "I love her."

"I know you do," Arthur said softly, and Lancelot noticed a change of the tone in his voice. It was almost desperate, angry, lonely, and a million other things that he couldn't place. He turned and looked at his commander. Arthur was looking out the window with sad, drooping eyes.

"You should be getting to bed," Lancelot spoke at last, hoping that the change in his friend was only tiredness. "It is late, and Guinevere will be waiting."

Arthur nodded wordlessly and stood up. Lancelot dropped Fuliciana's hand and stood as well, struggling only slightly with his leg; trying not to show the pain he felt in it. The two friends embraced, and then Arthur headed for the door. As he reached the door at last, he turned and looked at Lancelot. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then faltered and made a few incoherent noises before saying 'good night' and walking swiftly down the hall.

Lancelot sighed to himself and turned to face Fuliciana again. She was still fast asleep in the world of dreams and peacefulness. He smiled and laid his head down on the bed to join her.

* * *

_"Tristan?" _

_She knew she had had this dream before. The blackness. The wind howling. The screaming, pleading voices. This time, she wasn't ready to give up so fast. She wasn't going to scream and try to hide. She was going to find Tristan. She knew he was there. He was _always _there. _

_She called his name again, but the wind only howled louder. She could almost make out the voices…_

"Please, father! He did not mean it!"

"Antora!"

"Fuliciana, please, do not let him kill me!"

"Guinevere, look out!"

"Vatagona!"

_Fuliciana gasped in horror as she realized that the screams were from her own past. The horrors she had lived through. _

"I don't know anything!"

"Let her go! She is but a child!"

"Guinevere, no, I'm not leaving you!"

"Silence!"

"Lancelot! No!"

_Memories that she had all but forgotten came flooding back, and she covered her ears at last, sobbing in horror and squeezing her eyes shut as if that would block out the noise. Suddenly, the howling stopped. She opened her eyes and looked around her, her eyes widening as she saw that she was in the center of a clearing in the woods. Her vision was blurry, and the trees seemed to move in the haze, but it was very much real. _

_"Tristan?" she called out hesitantly. There was no answer. A gentle breeze stirred her hair, but other than that it was completely silent. As she stood and waited, a faint feeling of unease began to grow within her. She realized, with a jolt, that Tristan wasn't coming. _

_But someone was. Someone was pushing through the thick undergrowth, moving towards her at a rapid pace. She moved up pull out a knife, but there was nothing there. No defense. She took a deep breath and turned to face the approaching figure. Her small hands balled into fists, and she braced herself for the worst. _

_But she was not expecting Lancelot to stumble through the undergrowth. When she saw him, she sighed with relief. _

_"Lancelot…" she started, but then he came into full view, and stumbled to his knees, breathing heavily as blood ran down his face. "Lancelot!"_

_She rushed to him and pulled him into her arms, kneeling in the damp dirt beside him. His arms weakly clutched at the front of her dress, and she held his face to her chest, kissing the blood-matted curls, not caring that the vile taste stung sour on her tongue._

_"What happened, Lancelot?"_

_Then he gasped, his head flinging back; curls flying over his shoulder. With a wide-eyed, pleading look, he fell back into the dirt, twisting and landing on his stomach so Fuliciana could see the crossbow bolt protruding from his back. _

_Fuliciana's scream echoed through the air, and she pulled her love into her arms, already sobbing. _

_"Please, Lancelot, please!" she wailed, her hand running over his face. "Please!"_

_He did not stir. He did not breathe. Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly she forgot how to cry. His eyes were open; staring into hers. _Look what you've done,_ they seemed to tell her. _Useless. _She slowly raised her hands to her face, to stare with fright at the blood that covered them. A wave of nausea hit her, and she dropped her hands to rest on Lancelot's chest numbly. _

_"It seems as if I win after all."_

_She could not raise her head to see who had spoken. Her eyes, glued to Lancelot's still form, filled with unshed tears that would never fall. Her hands slowly curled into fists as she fought the numbness to slowly raise her eyes to gaze upon Lancelot's attacker.

* * *

_

"Fuliciana, please, calm down!"

Fuliciana only screamed again, eyes still closed, as Lancelot desperately tried to calm her.

"What's going on?"

Arthur and Guinevere entered together, with Galahad close behind, all three with horrified expressions.

"She just jumped up and started screaming!" Lancelot exclaimed.

"She's still asleep," Guinevere noted.

Lancelot managed to grab both of Fuliciana's arms, and he tried to pull her to him, but the young woman pushed away, screaming something unintelligible and sobbing.

"Fuliciana!" Guinevere yelled, putting her hand on Lancelot's shoulder. Her sister's voice seemed to have an effect on Fuliciana, for her fighting slowed, and Lancelot was able to grab her hands once again.

Fuliciana stopped fighting, but continued to sob wildly, her hands clenched into tight fists. As Lancelot loosed his grip, her fists slowly opened, revealing her palms to be covered in blood.

* * *

Guinevere walked out into the hallway, closing the door behind her gently. Lancelot, who had been sitting with folded hands and his head bowed low, looked up when Guinevere emerged. Galahad stood up straight from where he had been leaning against the wall, and Arthur ceased his pacing.

"How is she?" Lancelot was the first to ask.

"She will be fine," Guinevere said. "A nightmare."

"A terrible one to have her drive her fingernails into her skin," Galahad replied. Arthur nodded.

"It was," Guinevere said simply, and she looked at Lancelot out of the corner of her eye.

"Can I see her?" Lancelot asked. Guinevere nodded and gestured with her head towards the door. Lancelot stood up quickly and murmured thanks to Guinevere before entering the room.

Fuliciana was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling forlornly. When Lancelot entered, she just looked at him; a small, barely-there smile gracing her pretty features.

"Do you feel any better?" Lancelot asked, gently taking a seat beside the bed. Fuliciana smiled sadly and looked out the window for a few moments before turning and looking back at Lancelot.

"Yes," she said simply. She held up her bandaged hands, grinning sheepishly. "Quite foolish, actually."

"No," Lancelot said comfortingly. "It's not. Really."

Fuliciana smiled and reached out with one hand. Lancelot took it and kissed it gently. Fuliciana sighed with content and leaned her head back, tilting it so she could look at Lancelot fully.

"I'm sorry about that," she said gently, tracing a long gash on his face where she had scratched him. Lancelot smiled and laughed.

"I barely felt it," he replied truthfully. "I was worried about you." He paused for a moment, then took a risk. "What did you dream of that made you so afraid?"

Fuliciana looked at him as if she was surprised that he asked. After a moment, however, she sighed and answered.

"You," she replied. Breaking eye contact with him, she looked down at their entwined fingers. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were filled with tears. "Dying."

He gently bent down and kissed her; so softly that even she, a delicate creature, was surprised at it. Her other arm drifted around his neck, and his hand found her cheek.

"That is what made you so afraid?" Lancelot asked doubtfully, breaking their contact for several moments.

"Yes," Fuliciana replied, her lower lip quivering. "But let's not talk of it any longer, Lancelot. There are better things to be doing."

Lancelot smiled, and their lips met again.

* * *

**Individual thanks:**

**Szhismine:** Thanks! Tristan's a weird little man in this fic…even though he's dead…hmm…I might want to solve the Tristan problem soon, huh? I think I have some explaining to do…

**Jemiul: **Yeah, Fuliciana is pretty stubborn, isn't she? Now she's as stubborn as Lancelot and as strong as Guinevere! That's a pretty good combination if you ask me! Yes, you are right in your prediction that there will be troubles soon. Lots of troubles. Haha, cue evil laughter here…

**Camreyn: **The sweetness in last chapter was just overwhelming, wasn't it? So much sweetness, haha. I figured I'd introduce Fuliciana and Vanora's friendship, as it will play a small role in the story later, and I didn't want it to just pop out of nowhere. (Actual planning ahead! Yes!) Galahad _will _have a larger role in this story (and for those who miss the other knights; don't worry, they'll be coming.) Tristan's dreams _are _kind of weird…but I'll give you all a little hint. Tristan may not be completely in control of the dreams anymore. (Eek, spoilers!) Lancelot's sister will show up in the semi-near future; I promise. And the serving maid will appear in the even _more _near future. The plot should get a little faster once Fuliciana is completely recovered, which will be very soon.

**Mollziki: **The dreams are even _more _creepy in the chapter you just read, haha. Galahad is starting to grow up; and I love him for that. Lancelot's sister's coming. I put her to the side for a bit. I figure it takes a while to get to Britain from Sarmatia anyway.

**Southernhun: **If you're referring to the blonde lady I think you are (don't think there are that many blonde ladies in my story, haha) then that's Lancelot's sister. I never really outwardly stated it, but I insinuated it. I love Galahad too! I feel he's very under-appreciated, and therefore receives some love in my stories.

* * *

Thanks again to everyone, and I hope you enjoyed it! I'll try to update sooner, I promise! 


	14. Elaine

Okay, well, I didn't update this as soon as I would like, but reality has been bitch-slapping me in the face a lot more than I would like. My apologies, once again, and I will try to get these chapters out faster. This time I mean it.

Thanks to my readers and reviewers. I couldn't have done it without you!

No individual thanks this time, because school's in ten minutes and I don't have time to do that _and _my English homework!

* * *

**Chapter 13: **Elaine

It had been several weeks since the battle, and Fuliciana had healed surprisingly well. Considering that she had been only an inch away from death, she had regained all of her vitality in such a short amount of time that even the most prestigious of healers was baffled by it.

"Even _I _don't understand it," Lancelot murmured to Arthur as the two watched Guinevere and Fuliciana standing out in one of the fields, laughing as they practiced their archery.

"Nor do I," Arthur said with a chuckle. "But Fuliciana is a strong woman, Lancelot. You know that more than any. Or, if you do not, you should."

"I do," Lancelot replied with a laugh, and he shook his head slightly as he watched her. "I just do not understand how she heals so quickly."

"I think God pitied her for having to be stuck in a room with _you _all day," Arthur said with a smile. Lancelot turned to face him and shook his head with a laughing smile on his features. Arthur turned back to look at the two women, and his smile changed from a joking one to a peaceful and content one. "This is all I really wanted, Lancelot," he said quietly. Lancelot turned to look at him, tilting his head to one side in confusion.

"What?" he asked quizzically.

"To be living in a place where we know no fear. Where we both have wives, or lovers, and we can raise our children together and grow old. In peace."

"So you don't miss your Rome?" Lancelot asked hopefully. Arthur laughed.

"Rome is a peasant's village compared to this," he replied, spreading open his arms to encompass the whole of Camelot.

"Sometimes, I wonder after your sanity, Arthur Castus," Lancelot said with a barking laugh. "Fifteen years of wishing to be back in Rome, and then a beautiful woman walks your way, and you forget all about it."

"Don't forget that you did the same, Lancelot," Arthur said pointedly. Lancelot sighed and glanced out at Fuliciana before turning his gaze back on Arthur.

"I didn't do it for Fuliciana," he said quietly. "She would have willingly gone with me back to Sarmatia. I stayed here, Arthur, because of you."

Arthur looked surprised at this news, though Lancelot didn't see any reason why he should be. He had thought that it would be obvious to Arthur that he had stayed behind because he did not want to lose his closest friend. Apparently, though, it wasn't.

"Do you regret it?" Arthur asked after a few moments of thoughtful silence.

"Sometimes," Lancelot remarked. "But then I'll just see you and Guinevere talking, or I'll hear you call out my name from across the courtyard, and I'll know I made the right choice."

"What of your family?" Arthur asked. Lancelot sighed.

"Sometimes I wonder if they think that I am dead," he said quietly. "But…then I wonder if they are even alive. Imagine if I had traveled back to Sarmatia with Fuliciana in tow only to discover that my entire family had been killed years ago. What would I do then? Start a life with Fuliciana? A man can have a wife, and love her like no other, but he needs a friend. And that's what you are. Without you, there would be no life for me."

Arthur was touched, and he reached out his hand to grasp Lancelot's shoulder. Lancelot smiled and placed his hand atop Arthur's.

"Lancelot!" cried Fuliciana, a wide smile on her face as she lifted the skirts of her long, green dress and ran across the fields towards him. Lancelot laughed and carefully jumped over the low fence, pulling Fuliciana into his arms and kissing her. Guinevere slowly made her way over to Arthur and smiled at him, allowing him a peck on the cheek. The two of them, in turn, watched Fuliciana and Lancelot until the couple finally pulled apart. Lancelot still had his arms wrapped around Fuliciana's waist, however, so they weren't _too _far apart.

"I don't understand why the two of you continue to practice every day," Lancelot said, nuzzling Fuliciana's neck gently and making her giggle. "You're the beset archers in Camelot. You're better than Tristan! If only you'd spend a bit more time with the two of us."

"We spend plenty of time with the two of you," Fuliciana said playfully, ruffling Lancelot's hair gently. "We practice in case there is ever a need to use our skills. And don't try to tell me that there is peace now, Lancelot. My wounds are evidence enough to refute that claim."

Lancelot sighed, but could find no words to dispute his lover, so instead he just kissed her again. Arthur and Guinevere both laughed, though Lancelot noticed that Guinevere's laugh was more forced than Arthur's, which came with ease.

"Shall we go to visit Vanora?" Arthur asked after the laughter stopped. Fuliciana's face brightened considerably.

"Of course!" she exclaimed, and the four headed off towards the fort.

* * *

It was dark. Really dark, and Lancelot was drunk. He knew from past experience that he didn't do well in the dark while drunk, so he groggily called out for someone to light a candle at his table. Everyone laughed and ignored him. He sighed and stood up to do it himself, grumbling angrily under his breath.

"Lancelot, do us all a favor and go to bed!" Galahad called out from across the table where he sat with a girl in his lap.

Vanora, the only one in the entire tavern who wasn't dead drunk, pushed Lancelot towards the door.

"Lancelot, darling, I think it would be better if you went to bed," she said gently. "The last thing we need is you playing with fire."

Lancelot sighed and stumbled out into the courtyard. After a short period of not remembering where to go, he started towards the main castle.

"There you are, Lancelot!" exclaimed Fuliciana, sighing as she walked towards him, her face wreathed in shadows. Lancelot smiled and pulled her into his arms.

"'Liciana," he mumbled. "Sorry…shouldn't 'ave left you…"

"It's all right, Lancelot" Fuliciana said with a giggle. "Come on. Let's get you to bed."

Lancelot smiled, and Fuliciana started down the hall quickly, pulling at his hand as she ran. Lancelot just staggered along after her, his mind dimly registering that it wasn't a smart idea to be going so fast when he was obviously so drunk.

"Come on, Lancelot!" Fuliciana giggled. Lancelot stumbled along, gamely trying to keep up with her.

He was surprised when they reached the room so quickly. Fuliciana wasted no time in closing the door and practically pouncing on him. Her body felt soft in his drunken hand. Usually, he could feel the firm muscles on her arms, but in his intoxicated state, she felt too soft. He was afraid to break her.

She kissed him roughly, as if she had not seen him for days. The passion was something that she hadn't shown in the past few weeks. She was usually filled with lazy contentment, being convinced that there was nothing that could separate the two of them. He had noticed a growing amount of passion since the battle, however, but this was the most he had seen, or felt, for that matter, out of the woman since the night before Badon Hill.

"I love you, Lancelot," she whispered into his ear gently. "I love you and I'm not going to let anything take you from me ever again."

"I never went anywhere," Lancelot replied, sweet even when drunk. He knew Fuliciana would appreciate that, and she did; kissing him harder and pushing him back onto the bed.

* * *

Lancelot opened his eyes and sighed with contentment. He reached out his arm to feel for his lover, and was surprised when she was not there. He sat up slowly, trying to ignore the pounding pain in his head. The curtains were thrown open, and his clothes lay in a messy jumble on the floor. He frowned. Fuliciana _always _piled his clothes neatly on the chair in the corner of the room. Always.

He was beginning to get worried. He hurriedly pulled on his clothes, dimly wondering why he had awoken in his old quarters, rather than hers. They had always slept in her quarters following Badon Hill. Lancelot smiled to himself. _Perhaps she was drunk as well, _he thought to himself. Laughing at the thought of Fuliciana drunk, he opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

* * *

"Vanora!"

Fuliciana hurried into the tavern, breathing heavily.

"What is it, Ful?" Vanora asked hurriedly.

"Has Lancelot come down here this morn?" Fuliciana asked breathlessly.

"No, he hasn't. Why? Is something the matter?"

Vanora swiftly put down the plate she was drying and stepped from behind the counter.

"I went to sleep early last night because I wasn't feeling well," Fuliciana replied, wringing her hands nervously. "Lancelot still wasn't in. Then, this morning, I woke, and there was no sign of his ever entering. He wasn't in at all last night!"

Vanora placed her hands on the younger woman's shoulders comfortingly.

"I'm sure he's completely fine," she said. "The last I saw him he was wandering drunkenly back to his rooms. There's very little a man can do to hurt himself from here to there."

"Yes, but…" Fuliciana began, but Vanora cut her off.

"Why don't you ask Arthur? I'm sure he knows something."

Fuliciana nodded slowly and started to turn away, but then Guinevere walked into the room, humming cheerfully under her breath.

"Jenny!" Fuliciana exclaimed, her moment of calm shattered, replaced by worry once again. "Oh, Jenny, have you seen Lancelot?"

A look of worry replaced the cheer on Guinevere's face, and she looked around her hurriedly as if making sure that Lancelot was nowhere nearby.

"No," she said, frowning. "Why? Has something happened?"

Fuliciana sighed turned to look at Vanora pleadingly.

"Where's Arthur?" she asked without answering Guinevere's earlier question.

"He's out in the fields with Bors and the children," Guinevere answered. "Why? What is wrong, Fuliciana?"

"Something's wrong?"

Everyone turned around with varying degrees of relief written on their faces at the sound of Lancelot's voice behind them.

"Lancelot!" Fuliciana exclaimed, running to him and hugging him. "I was worried out of my mind! Where were you last night?"

Lancelot froze, cocking his head to one side in question as he looked down at Fuliciana.

"What?" he asked, finding nothing else to say in his confused state.

"Last night," Fuliciana repeated, her eyes narrowing suddenly. Amongst the confusion, she also sensed Lancelot's fear.

"Last night…?" Lancelot said again, looking to Vanora for help. She just tilted her head to one side and regarded Lancelot curiously, much in the same way that he had just done.

"Lancelot?" Guinevere said, stepping forward slightly and putting her hands on her hips. "Lancelot, where were you?"

"I was…you…" Lancelot frowned and looked down at Fuliciana. The anger on her face was too real, but he _knew _that she had been there the previous night.

"Lancelot was with me last night."

Lancelot spun around, and Fuliciana and Guinevere peered past Lancelot to see who had spoken. Vanora gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

The girl who had spoken _did _look somewhat like Fuliciana, only, if Lancelot were to tell the truth, _much _less pretty. She had an unpleasant sneer on her face at present, however, and Lancelot was more afraid of her than he had ever been afraid of anything.

"_What?_" Guinevere asked in a thunderous voice. Fuliciana just stared up at Lancelot, eyes begging for an explanation.

"No!" Lancelot exclaimed quickly. "I didn't. No, I was…"

Fuliciana pushed past Lancelot and stopped in front of the girl, her head held high and her entire body quivering with anger and sorrow.

"What is your name?" she asked the girl.

"Elaine," the girl replied. She smiled smugly and placed her hands on her hips. Fuliciana turned back to Vanora.

"This _whore _is Elaine?" she asked, and she saw Elaine's face darken out of the corner of her eye. Vanora nodded slowly. Elaine was the barmaid she had been gushing about for weeks.

"You call me a whore you vile _beast_?" she asked lowly. Fuliciana turned to face Elaine with an incredulous expression.

"What?" she asked, all sorrow gone from her eyes and leaving only the anger. "A beast? None is more beastly than the woman who sleeps with taken men!"

"He was hardly taken," Elaine spat. "After all, you are only a woad. When killing you didn't work, I figured I'd just take him back. And he accepted it willingly."

Fuliciana slapped the girl across the face; hard. Elaine reeled, but then returned the slap. It was a hard slap for the woman, but Fuliciana's head barely turned. Still, her fist shot out and connected with the woman's face. Elaine sprawled on her back, and Guinevere had to literally hold onto Fuliciana to keep her from killing the girl.

"It is better to leave this as it is," Guinevere said gently, tugging Fuliciana's hand as Lancelot stood awkwardly, his eyes never leaving Fuliciana. She happened to glance his way and caught his gaze, and was reminded that the matter was not yet finished.

"Why did you do it?" she asked, standing where she was and not moving to approach him as she normally would do.

"I didn't," Lancelot said weakly. Fuliciana sighed and turned away, walking with Guinevere out into the morning. Lancelot looked down at Elaine and made a noise of disgust, turning around and facing Vanora, who still had her mouth open.

"Lancelot!" she said finally in a great rush of breath. "Why? Why did you _do _that! I know you were drunk, but that is no excuse!"

"I didn't!" Lancelot said again. "I was with Fuliciana! Last night, I mean. I was…she…but…I thought it was Fuliciana…"

Vanora's eyes widened and traveled over to where Elaine still lay, unconscious upon the stone floor.

"She _tricked _you?" she asked incredulously. Lancelot's eyes widened as well.

"She did!" he exclaimed. "She must have, I mean. Fuliciana…"

"Guinevere will never let you near her," Vanora said sadly. "And even if you were able to get within a foot of her, she would never believe you. In fact, I'm not all that sure that I do." She paused, but then continued at the stricken look on Lancelot's face. "But I'm going to trust you. I know that you would never consciously do anything to hurt Fuliciana. And I know she knows it too. I'll talk to her the next time I see her."

"Thank you," Lancelot said, bowing his head slightly.

"For now, it would be best if you found Arthur and explained your side of the story before Guinevere gets to him," Vanora said, and Lancelot barely gave a nod before rushing out of the tavern and through the courtyard, towards the practice fields.

* * *

Please review, and sorry about the lack of IT. Thanks again!


	15. Despair, Frustration, and Love

Okay, well, maybe this didn't come out as soon as I had hoped. I thought the bitch slapping was going to end, but now it's back. Only this time, it's thankfully only high school drama stuff, which isn't that bad! Yes! It's lessened, though, basically. So, that's good!

So, anyway, sorry for the delay! I think I'm going to once again stop the individual thanks, only because it's almost midnight right now, and I really want to get this up! So, yeah, next time probably. Sorry about all this!

* * *

**Chapter 14: **Despair, Frustration, and Love

Lancelot stood near the fence where he, Fuliciana, Arthur, and Guinevere had all been standing only the day before. Arthur was on the practice fields with Galahad and Gawain, and Fuliciana and Guinevere were already there. Galahad had his hand on Fuliciana's shoulder comfortingly, and he was saying something to her. Her shoulders were shaking, and Lancelot realized with a pang of guilt that she was crying.

He sighed and slumped against the tree whose shadow hid him from their sight. He felt lost and alone, and he did not know what he should do to get her back. He was loath to just march across the field and explain things. There was nothing, in fact, that he wanted less.

He would wait and talk to her alone, he decided. He knew that she would understand, if only Guinevere was not there to persuade her that he was lying. She had always been able to tell if he was telling the truth. Maybe if she were not too angry to notice, she would see that he was not lying to her.

Lancelot sighed again and started moving back towards the castle, running a hand through his curly hair. He needed to talk to Vanora. He would check if Bors was there before entering the tavern, of course. He didn't know if Bors knew about the situation; but if he did, it could prove to be painful.

* * *

"He slept with another woman?" Arthur asked incredulously. Guinevere sighed. It was the third time Arthur had asked the question, and she was beginning to get irritated.

"Yes," she said. "And a woad-hating woman at that."

"I can't believe that Lancelot would ever do that," Arthur said stubbornly. Guinevere glared at him.

"I told you all along that this was going to happen," she reminded him. "From the start I said that he was going to take another woman to his bed, and he was going to break Fuliciana's heart."

Fuliciana glared at her, and her arms folded angrily across her chest.

"Stop it, Guinevere," she said coldly. Guinevere shrugged.

"I'm only stating the truth," she pointed out, but Fuliciana shook her head.

"No," she said. "Stop."

Guinevere sighed at the anger and disgust in her sister's voice and turned to Arthur, not letting it show how much Fuliciana hurt her with her coldness.

"He has to be punished," Guinevere said. "Thrown from the castle."

"What?" Arthur asked. "You cannot ask me to discard my closest friend…"

"I can," Guinevere said flatly. "And I did."

Arthur just looked at her, uncertainty on his features.

"And what if I say no?" he asked. Guinevere glared at him, but it was apparent from the frustration gleaming in her eyes that she could do nothing.

"I will speak with Lancelot and we will have this matter resolved in the morning," Arthur said smugly. "For now, I think it's best that we return to the castle. Fuliciana?"

Fuliciana looked at Arthur with water-filled eyes.

"Yes, Arthur?" she asked tremulously.

"We will resolve it," Arthur said, his coldness thawing a bit at the sight of Fuliciana so upset. "Do not worry."

"I'll try," Fuliciana replied, but the look on her face told Arthur quite the opposite.

"Come," Arthur said, holding out his arm for Guinevere, who took it reluctantly. "Let's go."

* * *

Fuliciana stood in the doorway to her new room, which was very near Guinevere and Arthur's chamber. Galahad stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his concern heavy in his voice.

"No," Fuliciana said shortly, but she smiled. Galahad knew that she only smiled for his benefit.

"Do you want me to stay?" Galahad asked. Fuliciana looked at him in surprise, eyebrows raising as they always did when something struck her as odd.

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"Just to keep you company," Galahad said quickly. "To…talk."

"I've never met a man who has wanted to come into my room to…talk," Fuliciana said slowly, but a small grin was spreading over her features. "But, then again, you have so far proven to be a remarkable man."

Galahad smiled and the two of them stepped inside the room, leaving the door wide open.

"So what do you want to talk about?" Fuliciana asked, sitting on the bed and leaning her elbows on her knees to face Galahad.

"This," Galahad said. Fuliciana sighed.

"There isn't much to talk about," she said.

"Oh, there is," Galahad said, and Fuliciana was surprised to see that he had grown suddenly serious. "What happened?"

"We told you," Fuliciana said patiently. "Lancelot slept with another woman last night. A tavern whore named Elaine."

Galahad nodded slowly and bit his lip thoughtfully. His eyes wandered around the room for a few moments, before he finally looked back at Fuliciana.

"Did he deny this claim?"

"Yes," Fuliciana said sadly. Then, as if just remembering that she was supposed to be angry, she frowned. "As every man would in a situation like this."

"What did he say?"

"Not much. He just said that he didn't do it."

"And do you believe him?"

The question surprised Fuliciana, and she looked at Galahad curiously, tilting her head to one side. His expression was calm, and his eyes gave nothing away. He was simply wondering. He was not trying to persuade her one way or the other.

"What does it matter what I believe?" she asked, stumbling over her words in her haste to get them out.

"Everything," Galahad said simply. Fuliciana sighed.

"I wish I could believe him," she said. "But he was not in last night, and there is no other explanation. He did not deny it firmly enough."

"Do you really think that Lancelot would ever do anything to hurt you?" Galahad asked, and suddenly his expression was pained and saddened. "Do you think that he ever thinks of anything except you?"

"Obviously, he does," Fuliciana said coldly. Galahad shook his head.

"Actually," he said. "It's not so obvious, to me."

"What?" she said. "He slept with her!"

"Perhaps," Galahad replied. "But perhaps he didn't. Perhaps he was so drunk that he went back to his old quarters to sleep. Perhaps he fell asleep in a bush. It would not be the first time. Trust me. I have some stories I could tell you."

"But the girl, Elaine, said that he slept with her."

"Elaine was Lancelot's favorite," Galahad said thoughtfully. "Before you came. He would give her presents and would take her to bed at least once a week. We, Gawain and I, would always say that Lancelot was looking for a rose in a briar patch. He wanted to love her, but she was just in it for the credibility. There is nothing more special to a barmaid than a trinket from a knight, you see."

"I don't see why you're telling me this," Fuliciana said impatiently.

"After you came, Lancelot forgot about Elaine completely. Which, given the circumstances, is completely acceptable." Galahad shot Fuliciana a smile that made her raise her eyebrows in surprise and blush slightly. "But Elaine never fully got over it. I've heard from many barmaids that all she does is complain about how Lancelot took a woad lover, and not one of the girls at the tavern. Of course, no one really listens. She's the laughingstock of the tavern now. Or, she was before last night. Now, I suspect everyone will hate her too much to be laughing."

"I think I should just kill her," Fuliciana grumbled under her breath.

"You missed the point," Galahad said with a chuckle.

"There was a point?" Fuliciana countered. Galahad laughed again and nodded slowly.

"Maybe Elaine was lying," he said. "Maybe Lancelot wasn't with her last night, and maybe Lancelot was too stunned by the accusation to say anything. Judging from how much he drank last night, he probably had a hangover fit to kill a man, and he probably wasn't thinking straight."

"If she was lying, then he will come to me when he's feeling better," Fuliciana said stubbornly, folding her arms across her chest like a petulant child.

"You don't think she was lying?" Galahad asked. Fuliciana shot him a look.

"I want to think that," she said. "But I don't."

"Why?" Galahad asked. "You have to admit that it was a possibility."

"Yes, but it's a slim chance," Fuliciana replied. "It is far more likely that she was telling the truth all along."

"Why is it more likely?" Galahad asked. "She's proven completely obsessed with Lancelot…"

"Exactly!" Fuliciana interrupted. "So she got him to sleep with her."

"Even if she did…"

"Fuliciana?"

Fuliciana and Galahad turned towards the door, surprised when they saw Guinevere standing here, a surprised expression on her face.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking ashamed. "I wasn't aware…"

"Oh, Jenny, stop it," Fuliciana said, rolling her eyes. "Galahad and I were just talking."

"About what?" Guinevere asked innocently.

"Lancelot," Galahad said. Guinevere sighed.

"Yes," she said. "Let's talk about that. That topic seems to…beg for discussion."

"And that does not mean that you get to tell everyone that you knew it all along," Fuliciana pointed out. Guinevere smiled.

"I know," she said with a sigh. "Though, if we want to be honest…"

"Guinevere," Fuliciana said warningly.

"Fine," Guinevere said with a chuckle to show she was just playing around. "But we need to set things straight as to what is going to happen to Lancelot."

"Nothing should happen to Lancelot," Fuliciana said quickly. "I don't want him thrown out of the castle."

"Why not?" Guinevere asked, surprised. Galahad's eyebrows rose, and both women noticed it and smiled slightly despite the situation.

"I don't want it," Fuliciana said simply. "I'm not just going to ignore the fact that I love him."

"How can you love him after what he did to you?" Guinevere asked incredulously.

"It barely happened three hours ago, and you think that suddenly I would no longer love him? Guinevere, you know that I loved Vatagona still when I met Lancelot."

"No, I did not know that," Guinevere said bitterly. "You closed up and would not speak with me."

"Because I knew that you would tell me of Vatagona's horribleness, and I did not want to hear it then. You must not forget that I was young and foolish then. Barely sixteen, remember, and convinced that I was in love."

"You were," Guinevere said sadly.

"Yes, but for all the wrong reasons. But with Lancelot…Lancelot is different."

"Apparently not so different," Guinevere muttered, not intending for Fuliciana to hear. Fuliciana heard her anyway and shot her a glare.

"He is," she said simply. "And I do not want him hurt in any way."

"He will not be hurt. He will just be removed from the castle and sent to a village somewhere," Guinevere said carefully.

"Exiled," Galahad said sadly, sighing heavily. This time, it was Guinevere's turn to glare.

"And you think that wouldn't hurt him?" Fuliciana asked, and Guinevere panicked when she saw tears filling her sister's eyes.

"Do not cry!" she exclaimed. "Please, Fuliciana. Do not cry."

"And what do you expect?" Fuliciana sobbed, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. "Do you not understand that Lancelot has become everything to me? You cannot expect me to not _grieve _for his…"

"Idiocy?" Guinevere suggested when Fuliciana fell silent. Fuliciana shot her a glare.

"Please, Guinevere," she said quietly. "Leave me. Please."

Guinevere sighed and got up. Galahad stood up as well. Fuliciana grabbed his arm.

"Wait," she said. "I have to ask you something."

Guinevere glared at her, but Fuliciana only gave her a level stare, waiting for her to leave. When she finally did leave, she slammed the door behind her loudly.

"Well?" Galahad asked.

"I need you to find Lancelot," Fuliciana said quietly. "And ask him why he did it. I do not want him to know that I sent you. Just act like you wanted to know."

"I will," Galahad said quietly. "And do you want me to come back as soon as I finish speaking with him?"

"Yes, of course," Fuliciana said, smiling through her tears. Galahad sighed and wrapped his arms around her gently.

"Do not worry," he said gently, and Fuliciana was surprised at the amount of wisdom present in his voice. "I'm sure he has an explanation."

"I hope he does," Fuliciana replied softly, and she pulled away from Galahad gently, kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome," Galahad replied with a smile, and he turned and walked out the door.


	16. Trying to Fix It

Here's Chapter 15! This one actually took me a little longer to write, because I've been busy lately.

Just as a little fun thing for me (Because I'm a royal dork) Where are you all from? I love learning stuff like that. So please tell! I'm from Norton, Massachusetts. (You guys had to have known I lived SOMEWHERE in Mass from my Red Sox hysteria earlier in the year!)

I've decided to stop individual thanks unless there's a question or something like that. It's not because I appreciate the reviews less (God, no!) but because I find myself writing these chapters at all hours of the night, and I really want to get them up, the individual thanks take a while to write.

So, yeah, I'm bloody scum, but I'm going to stop them now. So sorry! You could blame it on my laziness if you would like. I wouldn't mind.

* * *

**Chapter 15: **Trying to Fix It

Lancelot was pacing in his room when Galahad entered. He stopped moving and looked at his friend, already half-wincing as if preparing himself for the fury that he was sure Galahad was about to release. When Galahad just stood in the doorway and stared at him, Lancelot relaxed slightly, but still watched Galahad warily.

"What is it?" he snapped. Galahad sighed.

"I just want to know what happened," he said quietly. Lancelot heaved a sigh of relief and sat on his bed heavily. Galahad leaned against the doorframe.

"I don't know what happened," Lancelot said. "Honestly? I don't know at all. I was so drunk last night…I don't know how much I drank, but it was too much."

"It had to have been a lot. You hold your ale well," Galahad mused. Lancelot didn't notice the sarcasm, and he nodded.

"Probably," he said. "I don't really remember drinking that much, though."

"No one ever does," Galahad replied. Lancelot shot him a look.

"I just remember Fuliciana meeting me and bringing me back here. I don't even remember much of that, really. But I know that we slept together. Then, when I awoke, she was gone."

Galahad frowned and tilted his head to one side.

"You mean you were so drunk that you thought _Elaine _was Fuliciana?"

"Yes!" Lancelot replied. Then, he thought better of his answer and changed it. "No!"

"She tricked you," Galahad said with a smile, nodding his head slowly. "I knew it. She tricked you, didn't she?"

"She did," Lancelot replied sadly, looking down at the floor. "Well…I think she did."

"All the evidence points to it," Galahad replied. "Unless you really were just horribly drunk. Either way, Fuliciana can't possibly blame you for it."

"How's she doing?" Lancelot asked, looking up at Galahad finally, his hands clasped in front of him, between his knees. "You were speaking with her earlier. Is she…?"

"Distressed," Galahad said. "Upset. Sad. I don't think she's stopped crying all day."

"Oh," Lancelot said sadly, sighing and bending his head towards the floor once again.

"But I'll tell her what you said," Galahad said gently. "Do not worry."

"How can I not worry?" Lancelot asked grumpily. "I only want her to be happy, Galahad. You understand that, right?"

"If course I do, Lancelot." Galahad said, and Lancelot was surprised at the amount of understanding in the younger man's voice. "Lancelot, everyone understands it."

"Not Guinevere," Lancelot said with a heavy sigh. "And sometimes I think that she's the one who matters most of all."

"She doesn't," Galahad said, looking backwards out into the hallway, making sure that Guinevere wasn't standing directly behind him as he said that. "Her opinion doesn't matter at all, Lancelot."

"It matters to Arthur," Lancelot said forlornly. "And Arthur's opinion matters more than anybody's."

Galahad sighed and folded his arms across his chest. He knew how much Arthur meant to Lancelot, though he knew that Lancelot never would have admitted it if he wasn't so depressed.

"We will fix it," Galahad said carefully. "I'll go speak with Fuliciana right now. Lancelot…we'll fix it."

Galahad was surprised beyond belief when Lancelot looked up at him, tears glimmering in his eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured softly. Galahad sighed and pushed himself away from the wall, taking the few steps to where Lancelot was sitting.

"Lancelot," he said gently. Lancelot looked at him forlornly. "Lancelot, don't do this. Not again."

Lancelot scowled dangerously at Galahad, but the younger knight wasn't about to be deterred.

"We're going to fix it. Don't worry."

"I…" Lancelot began angrily, but Galahad stopped him.

"Last time you scared all of us more than anything, Lancelot. Do not do it again. Just…stay here until I get back."

Lancelot nodded slowly, and Galahad hurriedly walked out of the room.

* * *

"You need to rest."

Fuliciana sighed and rolled her eyes at Guinevere.

"Guinevere, not even a year of being queen, and already you've grown soft. And what's worse, you think I've grown soft with you! I'm not some…Roman lady, Guinevere!"

"You're a strong woman, Fuliciana…physically. Emotionally, you're extremely fragile."

Fuliciana bristled angrily and glared at her sister.

"I am not," she growled.

"You spent much of the day crying your eyes out," Guinevere replied.

"It's only been several hours," Fuliciana replied. "And it's still the morning. I want to go outside and have a walk in the garden."

"Fine," Guinevere replied. "But let me come as well."

"No," Fuliciana replied roughly. "I'm going alone."

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, her skirts swirling behind her. Guinevere sighed and stood at the window, looking down at the garden below. After a few long moments, Fuliciana appeared out of the door in the castle, stomping across the stone and flinging herself on the grass beneath a tree that she had planted after Badon Hill, her shoulders shaking with sobs that Guinevere could almost hear.

"Fuliciana?"

Guinevere turned and saw Galahad standing in the doorway, looking puzzled.

"She's not here," Guinevere replied.

"Where is she?" Galahad asked.

"I don't know," Guinevere replied, eyes narrowing slightly. Galahad sighed and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Lancelot was tricked," he said after a moment. Guinevere tilted her head to one side in question.

"Is that what he told you?" she asked.

"Yes," Galahad said.

"And you believed him?" Guinevere asked incredulously. Galahad sighed.

"It disturbs me that you believe that tavern wench more than you believe Lancelot," he said darkly. Guinevere's eyebrows raised and she looked about to put him in his place, but he didn't give her the chance. "I know that you don't trust Lancelot, and I understand your motives, but you have to know that if there is one man that I would trust my life with, even above Gawain, it is Lancelot."

"Why?" Guinevere asked pointedly. Galahad gave her a look that clearly said he was disgusted. Guinevere tried to hide her surprise at this open show of disrespect.

"Because Lancelot is the only one who would risk his life in a second to save me," Galahad said. "And anyone here. Anyone that Arthur cares about."  
This time, it was his turn to give a pointed look. Guinevere scowled angrily.

"It's good to know that you have faith in Lancelot, but that does not change what he did."

"And what exactly did he do?" Galahad asked. "He slept with a woman, who tricked him into thinking that she was your sister. Where is the fault in that?"

"Add lying to his crimes," Guinevere said dryly. Galahad rolled his eyes.

"He is not lying," he said. "Go and speak with him yourself, Guinevere. The man is a good actor, but I assure you that he is feeling real despair over this. He _loves _Fuliciana more than anything."

"How many women has he 'loved' in fifteen years?" Guinevere asked.

"Two," Galahad said, stone faced. Guinevere's eyes widened only slightly. "And one broke his heart."

Guinevere's expression turned from neutrality to one of utter disbelief.

"What?" she asked. "If he was so heartbroken, then why did he turn and break all those other hearts?"

"Because he was in pain," Galahad countered. "He wanted love in return."

"How come no one has ever spoken of this?" Guinevere asked. Galahad could see that she was just trying to come up with anything that would make her see Lancelot in a bad light.

"Because no one likes to speak of it," Galahad replied. "There are some things in life that are just better off forgotten, and Relatona is one of them."

"Was that her name?"

"Yes," Galahad replied. "Lancelot loved her, and she pretended to love him back. But in the end, it was all about the glory. She was found sleeping with Kay, one of the other knights. She told him, in front of everyone, that she never loved him, and that she was only using him as her pretty knight-toy."

"Just as he did with all those women."

"He did not sleep with so many, but rather the same countless times. He tired of them all eventually, because he couldn't find the spark that Relatona had. He couldn't find the life and the happiness that she brought him. And then he found your sister in that dungeon, and something in him just must have known that she was perfect."

Guinevere looked slightly surprised to hear the young knight speaking of love and other things that he didn't appear to know about. Galahad only sighed and leaned against the doorframe as he had in Lancelot's room earlier.

"Perhaps you think that somehow this justifies what he did to Fuliciana, but I do not see how it does."

"He didn't do anything to Fuliciana!" Galahad replied angrily, his head lolling exaggeratedly. "At least, not intentionally, and that is all that matters. He was tricked by the whore Elaine into sleeping with him. That was her goal all along, to break them apart! Guinevere…there is no reason why you should not at least listen to Lancelot's story."

"Yes, there is," Guinevere replied coldly. "My sister has been through much, Galahad. Too much for a girl of her age. When I first supported their relationship, it was because I thought that it would be good for her to have a man like Lancelot in her life. I knew that she would love him and he would love her. It was inevitable. But I told myself that if he ever hurt her, I would make sure that the relationship ended. Now he has hurt her, Galahad. And I want to make sure that he stays away. Because if he stays away, then there is a chance for her to heal. And that is all I want. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Galahad said softly. "I understand, but do you think that protecting her from hurt all her life if going to save her? Do you think that losing Lancelot will be any less painful to her than having him?"

"No," Guinevere said sadly. "She is heartbroken, and I know it. But there is nothing I can do."

"There is," Galahad replied. "Whether or not you want to see it. Let me fix this."

"You cannot fix it," Guinevere replied sadly. "Don't you see? She will never trust him now! I do not know which will be more painful for her! Would she rather live without him, with the chance of finding a man like him, or even a better man, or would she rather live with him, not trusting him, for the rest of her life?"

"I think that you do not give your sister enough credit," Galahad replied. "She is stronger than you think, Guinevere. Much stronger."

* * *

Fuliciana had stopped crying, and just lay on her back, looking up at the sky with an unreadable expression, lost in the clouds and the bright glare of the sun. She head footsteps moving towards her. When she looked up, she saw Arthur standing there, standing with an awkward stance and tilting his head to one side as if asking permission to join her. Fuliciana sat up and wiped the stains on her cheeks.

"I thought I'd find you here," Arthur replied, sitting on the ground in front of Fuliciana. If she had not been so miserable, she would have laughed at the sight of the noble King Arthur sitting in the grass and talking with her beneath a scrawny, leafless tree.

"I'm predictable," she said instead with a weak attempt at a smile. Arthur chuckled slightly, but there was no humor behind it.

"I haven't been able to speak with Lancelot," Arthur replied. "He's not in his quarters, and I can't find him anywhere."

Fuliciana tried to hide her expression of worry, but Arthur saw it anyway.

"I'm sure he's fine," he said with a grin. "If he wants to be alone, it's none of our business."

"But what if something…" Fuliciana began, before she remembered that she was supposed to be mad at him, and fell silent.

"Don't worry," Arthur said gently. "He'll turn up later tonight. He'll probably be drunk, but he'll be more or less in one piece."

"Oh," Fuliciana said, thinking of nothing else to say. Arthur sighed and took Fuliciana's hand, squeezing it gently.

"Fuliciana," he said softly. "I know that this is hard for you, but we're going to get you through it. I know Lancelot, and I know that he would never have done something like that intentionally, or without reason."

"What reason can there be?" Fuliciana asked sadly.

"I will ask him when I see him," Arthur replied. "I just wanted to tell you that I think there is something more to this than there seems to be."

"Like what?" Fuliciana asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I don't know," Arthur replied. "Not yet. For now, I have to find your sister. We need to talk."

"All right," Fuliciana said sadly, standing up and brushing the grass off her dress. Arthur wrapped his arms around her in a comforting hug.

"Come," Arthur said. "Let's get you upstairs. I can have the servingwomen draw a bath for you. It will do you good."

Fuliciana smiled sadly and nodded wordlessly, and Arthur gave her hand a squeeze. He smiled too, but it was killing him inside to see his little sister (for that was what she was to him) so sad. And it hurt him even more to know that his best friend was the one who had caused the hurt.

* * *

Lancelot sighed and pushed open the room to his door, closing it sturdily behind him. A long walk had cleared his thoughts, and he was now ready to face whatever news Galahad would bring. But first, he wanted to sleep. He had a headache, and though it was only a little past noon, it had been a long day already.

So he locked his door and got into bed. But he didn't sleep, but instead sat up thinking about her and how much he had hurt her. He could only hope that she would forgive him eventually.


	17. Together

I am utterly astounded at the shortness of this chapter. This is a new low! Wow.

Well, this is kind of a plot-forwarder, so that's my excuse. That and tonight I got horrible news that I can't stop thinking about, so I'm having problems writing.

I'm very glad all of you answered my question! I love the diversity of my readers! That is so cool to me! Thanks also that you reviewed, and please review again! You know how much it means to me!

I'm actually going to dedicate this chapter, in light of recent events, to a kid named Pete. None of you know him (hopefully, or I'll feel kinda dumb), but he's a really great kid, and I like him a lot. He's having problems right now, so I just want to give him this little dedication, though he'll never see it. Just to…you know, show I'm thinking about him.

So…for Pete.

* * *

**Chapter 16: **Together

Lancelot stood Fuliciana's door, leaning on the beam as he peered into the darkness of her room. He could just barely make out the outline of her sleeping form from the dim light cast by the candle at the end of the bed. A quick and careful scan of the room revealed that there was no one else in there with her, so he silently stepped inside.

He approached the side of the bed with complete silence, and watched the rise and fall of Fuliciana's chest with sadness. Her hair was spread out across the pillow, and her curly locks shone in the candlelight, begging for him to reach out and caress them. She was not perfect, he knew, but at that moment, he would have given his whole life to have her back for just one night. Because to him, she _was _perfect, and nothing could have convinced him otherwise.

He watched her for quite some time, before he finally decided that he needed to get back to his own quarters to sleep, before she awoke and saw him. He turned and started to go, but then he stopped. He could not leave without giving her a kiss, though she would be awake to treasure the kiss like he would.

So he crept silently to her bedside and started to kneel down. Before he could press his lips to hers, however, Fuliciana sat up with a fierce yell. It was only Lancelot's quick reflexes that kept him from being impaled upon the knife that she held in her hands, but he did get stabbed in the side, and muttered a curse, before turning to face her.

She was kneeling on the bed, clutching her robe tight around her, her eyes wide with fright. Lancelot wondered if she was even worried about him.

"W…what are you doing here?" she asked, eyes darting to his side, where his hands were calmly staunching the blood. It was not a bad injury.

"Watching you sleep," Lancelot replied truthfully. "I could not find rest."

"No surprise, after what you did," Fuliciana replied shakily. Lancelot sighed.

"I…" he began, but Fuliciana's angry expression stopped him.

"I do not want to talk about it," she replied. "Just…leave, please."

"But, Fuliciana…you must give me a chance to explain!"

"I don't have to do anything," Fuliciana retorted angrily, but she was still staring at him with wide eyes, and he knew that she did not mean the words she said, nor the angry tone she said them with.

"Please," he whispered, but Fuliciana just closed her eyes and gave a ragged sigh.

"You shouldn't have come here," she whispered, eyes still closed. "You should have stayed away. You don't have a right…"

"A right? I don't have a right to try and explain to you what happened to me last night?"

Fuliciana was silent and then she sighed heavily again, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands and stepping off the bed, but not getting any closer to Lancelot.

"Why did you come here?" she asked. "Couldn't this have waited until the morning?"

"No," Lancelot replied. "I needed to see you, Fuliciana. I _needed _to look at you."

He took a step towards her, and was hurt when she took a step backwards in response.

"Tell me," he said sadly. "How did it come to this, Fuliciana? How did it come to you being afraid of me?"

"I am not afraid of you," Fuliciana replied.

"You are!" Lancelot exclaimed, taking the last few steps towards her and pressing her against the wall, his hands on her shoulders. "Fuliciana, look at me. I did not sleep with that woman of my own will."

"You aren't going to tell me that she raped you, are you?" Fuliciana asked sarcastically, trying to push him away but failing.

"No," Lancelot said simply. "She tricked me."

Fuliciana rolled her eyes, once again trying to get herself out of his grasp.

"You don't believe me?" Lancelot asked; teeth gritted as he pushed her against the wall harder.

"Lancelot…" Fuliciana said, eyes wide. He realized with a jolt that he was hurting her, and he pulled away from the wall abruptly, putting his hand to his head and groaning.

"I shouldn't have come," he murmured, too ashamed to even look her in the eye. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come."

Fuliciana just stared at him, her robe pulled around her. He knew that stare. It was the stare she used whenever she was trying to figure someone out. When she was trying to understand what someone was doing. It was a sign to leave. So he walked towards the door.

"Lancelot, wait," said Fuliciana, so quietly that at first Lancelot wasn't sure if he had even heard it at all. But as he turned around, she was walking towards him. She moved until she was standing directly in front of him, looking up at him with tears shimmering in her eyes. He could only look back sorrowfully, wondering why she had him stay. "I would forgive you any wrong. Just do not leave me in the dark again."

She gently stood on her toes and took his face in her hands, pressing her lips against his. For a short moment, she pulled back, but then kissed him again, with more passion than before. Lancelot, after a moment's hesitation, returned the kiss. And he tasted her tears.

* * *

The army was ready. It wasn't much, but it would have to be enough. Cyrlic couldn't wait any longer. His wound had healed and he was ready for revenge. Revenge for killing his brother. Revenge for killing his father. Revenge for making a fool out of him to his men. He had many things that he wanted revenge for, and he was finally going to get it.

Because he and his men had a plan. They were going to hurt Arthur worse than death, and they knew that there was only one way to do that. And so he sent three of his best men out to the forests near the wall to wait for their chance. They knew that it would not take long. And when it happened…they knew that it would make their leader _very _happy.

* * *

"I still don't understand," Fuliciana whispered, shifting her weight slightly as she lay beside Lancelot, fingers gently caressing his chest.

"I don't fully understand either, Lancelot replied, making a face as he looked down upon his drowsy lover. "But somehow she tricked me into thinking she was you."

"But why?" Fuliciana asked, tilting her head to one side and regarding him curiously. "Why would she do that?"

"Because she thought she loved me," Lancelot replied with a sigh. "I suppose."

"Let's not talk about that," Fuliciana decided suddenly. "I don't want to think about it."

"Neither do I," Lancelot said, drawing a shaky breath.

"Think of how surprised Guinevere will be in the morning when you and I emerge from this room together."

"Knowing Guinevere, she won't even wait until we emerge. She'll barge in here thinking you're alone, and she'll see us here, sleeping."

"And then she'll scream," Fuliciana said decisively. "And she'll shoo you out."

Lancelot laughed and bent down to give Fuliciana a kiss. She smiled and rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes contentedly, sighing. Lancelot let his fingers trail through her hair, and felt more than heard her humming a tune under her breath. He smiled to himself and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders.

"I won't ever let you out of my sight again," he promised. Fuliciana smiled.

"I think it would be all right if you let me out of your sight," she said. "Just not for too long."

"I think we can settle for that," Lancelot said with a laugh, and then the two of them lay together in relative silence, until they fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

* * *


	18. Granort

Thanks everyone for the reviews! Life may become nicer soon. Not sure yet. Pete's doing better, I've been told, though I don't approve of the methods used to make him better. But…yeah, more updates should be happening sooner. I was grateful for all of you who cared. Thank you very much.

For Keelin: Yeah, I always figured she noticed, but it wasn't that bad of an injury. The guy's a warrior, lol. He's not going to mind a scratch or two. Thanks for the question. It makes me feel special!

You know what I just REALIZED? I'm going to have 100 reviews soon! That's a first for me! I'm so excited! Ah! So happy!

* * *

**Chapter 17:** Granort

When Lancelot awoke, Fuliciana was sleeping by his side, her arm thrown over the pillow beside her, and a content smile on her face. Lancelot could not believe that the situation had been resolved so quickly. He had expected the worst. Of course…Lancelot always expected the worst.

And he expected the worst when it came to facing Guinevere later in the day; as he would eventually have to, no doubt. He wasn't exactly itching to have a talk with the young queen. She had already made it explicitly clear to him that she did not approve of him, because of what he was like before he met Fuliciana. She had also stated that if he did not hurt Fuliciana, then they would not have any problems. He had obviously hurt her, and he wasn't exactly thrilled to have to find out what 'problems' they were going to have.

"Lancelot?"

Lancelot turned his head and smiled at Fuliciana as she stretched and yawned slightly.

"Good morning," he said softly. Fuliciana smiled at him.

"Good morning," she repeated, looking out the window. "I see it's rather late in the day."

"Nearly noon," Lancelot replied, smiling slightly. "No doubt Guinevere is beginning to wonder why you are sleeping so late."

"At least she won't bother us," Fuliciana pointed out. "She probably thinks I am depressed because of what happened."

Lancelot's smile faded and he looked away from Fuliciana to look at the ceiling.

"We should talk about that," he said quietly.

"There's nothing to talk about," Fuliciana replied. Lancelot looked at her out of the corner of his eye and wondered what she was feeling.

"Are you still angry?" he asked.

"Yes. At her," Fuliciana replied. "I wanted to kill her yesterday, but Galahad would not let me. He said that there would be consequences. I think he just wanted her for himself."

"He doesn't need a whore like her," Lancelot said, grinning slightly at Fuliciana. "He's got Gawain."

"Gawain will be jealous, then," Fuliciana replied playfully. Lancelot laughed.

"That he will be."

* * *

"She still has not come out of her room," Guinevere said nervously, shooting a glare in Arthur's general direction. His apparent lack of concern for Fuliciana's sadness was infuriating. She hated that he could look so calm at a time like this. She _knew _that he cared, and she _knew_ that the entire situation was killing him inside, but she also knew that he was hiding it because of something in his mind that told him that kings weren't allowed to show emotion.

"She's sad," he said simply, shrugging and taking another sip of whatever he had in the mug he was clutching. "Give her some time."

"I want to talk to her," Guinevere said defensively.

"What is there to talk about? Honestly, Jenny, I think you may be better off leaving her alone right now. If she has some time to think these things through; then she'll be able to sort out her emotions on her own. And it's better if she does it on her own, honestly, because then there's no confusion as to which emotions are hers', and which are really yours' pretending to be hers'."

Guinevere shot him another look, but this one was for being right. She knew that all he said was true, and that it was going to take time for Fuliciana to come to terms with what had happened. She also knew that having Lancelot in the castle wasn't going to help. She started to say something to Arthur about that, but only got as far as the second word in the sentence before Galahad walked in, a smug smile on his features.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly. The doors to the hall made a loud clanging noise behind him, and he winced only slightly before reacquiring his earlier appearance of confidence.

"Good morning," said Arthur and Guinevere in unison, though with varying degrees of sincerity.

"You look rested," Arthur said suspiciously. Galahad shrugged.

"Just relieved," he said with a devilish smiled. Arthur gave him a confused look, but Guinevere just glared at him.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked.

"Last night I passed by Fuliciana's room, and saw Lancelot going in. Now…either she killed him, or…she kept him there with her, because I can't find him anywhere."

"_What?_" Guinevere asked in utter shock, as a huge grin spread across Arthur's features. "She let him back into her room?"

"I told you Elaine tricked him," Galahad said with a smirk. "You just chose not to believe me."

With one more glare for Galahad, and another, smaller one, for Arthur, Guinevere stormed out of the room, slamming the wooden door heard behind her. Arthur stood up from the Round Table, beginning to chuckle.

"Thank you for that news," he said, trying to force the smile down, but having no luck. "That certainly made me feel better."

"Me too," Galahad said. "I slept well, actually. I didn't think I would."

"I didn't," Arthur muttered, sitting back down. His lack of sleep showed in his movements and the dark circles under his eyes. Galahad nodded sympathetically.

"I was going to go to your rooms to tell you, but I decided against it." He gave another mischievous smirk that made Arthur send a half-hearted glare in his direction. Galahad just chuckled and excused himself, closing the door behind him.

* * *

"How could you forgive him after what he did to you?"

"You're saying the same things over and over, Guinevere! I've answered your questions already! I forgive him! I love him!"

"But…"

"Stop it!" Guinevere was surprised at the volume in Fuliciana's voice. "Just stop it! Do you think I haven't told myself the same things that you're trying to tell me! Yes, I have doubts, but I've chosen to forgive him! I don't need you trying to make me feel bad about my decision, because I don't! I don't regret it, and I know I never will!"

"You'll regret it when he does this again to you!" Guinevere exclaimed. "Fuliciana, please just…"

"Stop!" This time, it was the desperation in her sister's voice that surprised the queen. "Guinevere, please!"

Guinevere sighed and sat down on Fuliciana's bed. Her sister was crying, and she hated the sight. She remembered that when the two of them were in Marius's dungeon, she stayed awake listening to Fuliciana crying herself to sleep for the first few nights. After that, she couldn't hear her crying any more, but she knew that that was just because Fuliciana was so weak that she wasn't making enough noise. The night that the noise had stopped reaching her, she vowed that she would never make Fuliciana cry again. And she had just broken that pact with herself.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking up at Fuliciana and trying to find the young girl who she had raised. She could not find her, but only found a strong, defiant woman staring back. "I just…after Vatagona…"

"I know," Fuliciana interrupted, and she sat down beside Guinevere, sighing. "I know. You want to protect me because of what he did…but Guinevere…you can't expect me to find something perfect. Nothing in this world is perfect! There will always be doubts, Guinevere. I've doubted him from the start, but that does not mean that I do not love him. I do. I love him very much. And I forgive him. I appreciate that you are trying to protect me, but you can't. Not this time."

"It seems like I can never protect you," Guinevere said sadly with a small huff of a laugh.

"You will have a chance eventually," Fuliciana said softly, smiling. "But I suppose you will have to wait for it."

"Apparently," Guinevere said sadly.

"Do not worry," Fulciana said. "I can take care of myself."

Just as she was finished speaking, a knock came at the door, and Lancelot entered. He smiled hesitantly at Guinevere. When she did not return the smile, he did not look too surprised. He just turned to Fuliciana and grimaced slightly.

"Your father has returned," he said, eyebrows raising. "And he desperately wants to speak with you."

"Why?" Fuliciana asked emotionlessly. Lancelot saw the tears staining her face, but he decided to pretend that he didn't.

"He did not tell me," he replied.

"You spoke with him?" Guinevere asked. Lancelot shot her a look that wasn't quite a glare, but was close enough to get him a full glare and a look of utter shock in return.

"Yes," he said, but he was looking at Fuliciana when he said, it, though he was answering Guinevere's question. "I spoke with him."

"What did he say?" Fuliciana asked. "Can you remember exactly?"

Lancelot sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to think.

"We started off talking about the remaining Saxons. Arthur, and the two of us. Then Arthur left, and Granort just turned to me and said 'tell Fuliciana that I wish to speak with her in the woods, near the temple. She will know where it is.'"

Fuliciana almost smiled, but then she made a face.

"The temple?" Guinevere asked, eyebrows rising.

"There was a clearing in the forest that I used to call the temple when I was younger," Fuliciana said. "Apparently father remembered."

"Apparently," Guinevere replied, snorting. "So he wants you to meet him there?"

"I suppose," Fuliciana said, shrugging. "When, Lancelot. Do you know?"

"I was under the impression that he wanted you to go now," Lancelot replied.

"Then I will go," Fuliciana said. Lancelot looked surprised, as did Guinevere. "I want to end this feud. It's gotten silly."

Lancelot and Guinevere both nodded silently.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Lancelot asked. Fuliciana nodded.

"If you would like," she said. "You can accompany me to the edge of the trees. I know he would be upset if I took you into the clearing with me."

"Of course," Lancelot said. "Do you want to do now?"

"Yes," Fuliciana replied, and with a 'goodbye' to Guinevere, they were on their way out the door.

* * *

Fuliciana stood in the tall grass, her red dress swirling about her. She swirled around, hands raised above her, laughing. Lancelot watched her sadly. He had almost lost that. He did not know what he would do if she hadn't extended her hand in forgiveness. He really did not know what he would do.

"It's so beautiful!" she exclaimed suddenly, and Lancelot's head snapped up from the ground to look at her, disbelief registering on his face. He looked around him and saw that all was as it had been in his dream. The flowers. Fuliciana's dress.

"What is it?" Fuliciana asked, just as he knew she would. Lancelot just made a face.

"Nothing," he replied, trying to smile. "Nothing. You're right. It is beautiful."

Fuliciana laughed and ran to Lancelot, wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his chest.

"I'm glad you agree," she said. "I really am."

"I do," Lancelot said. Then, both of them laughed and Fuliciana pushed Lancelot onto the ground giggling as she started running.

"You have to catch me!" she yelled as she ran, picking up her skirts. Lancelot grinned and ran after her. Neither of them noticed the pair of watchful eyes that was peering out at them from the trees.

* * *

Fuliciana stepped into the Temple, looking around for her father.

"Father?" she called, frowning slightly as she turned around into a full circle, completely expecting him to suddenly appear out of the mist, as he always seemed to do. When he didn't she sighed, wondering if her father had not, in fact, wanted her to meet him then; if he wanted her to wait for later.

She started to turn back, but she heard something coming from further in the woods. It was pure luck that she heard it, really. It was a tiny noise, but she happened to hear it because the wind had stopped for that one moment, she was in mid-step, meaning that she was silent.

The noise was a tiny groan. So small and insignificant, yet odd enough to catch her attention. She peered into the trees from whence he came and heard a sort of hushed whispering noise.

"Father?" she said, slightly hesitant this time. She didn't know what do think, honestly. The groan was certainly suspicious. She reached for a knife that was hidden beneath her dress and pulled it out, eyes searching through the foliage like the experienced tracker that she was. She could see no sign of movement, but the hushing continued, and it was getting closer.

* * *


	19. Gone

Okay, here's 18. Sorry it took so long. This one actually took me a while to write. Usually I can write them in a night, but this one took three. I have no clue why, since it's not very long compared to the others, but it just took FOREVER!

Okay, so, done with the ranting. Just a little note. Trabahn, a character in the upcoming chapter, is based on my friend Pete who I was telling you all about. At least, by looks he is. Pete's adorable, so I figured I'd go ahead and do it.

I think that's it. Please remember to review, and thanks so much for all of you who _did _review! I made one hundred! YAY!

* * *

**Chapter 18: **Gone

The Saxon burst out of the fog just where Fuliciana expected him to, and with one swift stab from the Woad, he was on the ground, opening his mouth to shout out for help, his hands reaching for his dropped weapon and his bleeding side. Fuliciana just swiftly jabbed her knife through his throat, grabbing the heavy axe that he had dropped in the same motion, and whirling to face the other direction.

She listened with all her might, but there was no other noise. She could dimly hear a lone bird calling in the distance, and then a brief rustling of the leaves as the wind blew, but nothing else. She thought of turning back, but then she thought of her father, and she started forward towards where the Saxon had appeared. She made sure to be absolutely silent, though her beating heart made her nervous. She knew how the Saxons moved, and she knew they moved heavily, but that one who had surprised her had been almost silent. Something wasn't right.

She heard the next one right away. He was moving steadily towards her, stomping through the leaves. She started to raise the axe to ready herself for him, but then she froze as the slightest movement came from behind her. Suddenly realizing her mistake, she spun around and slashed across the chest of the Saxon who had just emerged from the trees behind her. Then, she spun to face the diversion Saxon, and she abandoned the axe for the lighter sword that the diversion was carrying.

She was deep in the fog at that point, and a frightened feeling was growing in the middle of her stomach. She knew that there were Saxons on all sides of her. She could feel it. And if she went further, it would only get worse. So she did the only thing that she _could _do. She turned and ran.

* * *

Guinevere was in Vanora's tavern, having a drink and speaking with her about Lancelot when Arthur walked in.

"Do you know where Lancelot is?" he asked, looking distracted and not at all happy.

"No," Guinevere said, immediately sensing that something was wrong. "What is it?"

"There's a woman here," Arthur said, gesturing vaguely to the door of the tavern. "She says that she needs to speak with him."

"Did she give you a name?" Guinevere asked, standing and smoothing her skirts.

"No," Arthur said. "She was very short with me. She was very…impatient."

"I'll deal with her," Guinevere said, her jaw already set in determination. Arthur just nodded and smiled slightly. He knew that it was for the best that she handle it. "Where is she?"

"Outside the fort," Arthur said.

"Why didn't you let her in?" Guinevere asked. Arthur shrugged and pouted, looking a bit like a small child.

"I didn't like the way she spoke to me," Arthur said. Guinevere smiled and nodded.

"I do not blame you," she said. "In fact, I am proud."

The look on Arthur's face clearly stated that he wasn't sure that her being proud of him for that was a good thing, but he just nodded and veered off sharply to the right, disappearing into the stables. He was a good king, but he had a soft heart.

Not that that was a bad thing, necessarily. It just wasn't so good when dealing with women like the one that Guinevere looked down upon from the wall when she reached it.

"Who are you?" she asked, getting right to business and not wasting her breath on formal words. It was an insulting gesture, and the women below noticed it with a frown.

"I am here to speak with Sir Lancelot," she said through clenched teeth. "I want nothing more than just to speak with him. If you would just bring him to me…"

"He is not here," Guinevere said coldly.

"Where is he, then?" the other woman asked. Guinevere frowned. The woman below was far away, but she looked no older than Guinevere herself; perhaps even younger. Yet she was speaking as if she were much older.

"Why don't you tell me who you are, and I will tell you where Sir Lancelot is," Guinevere replied; a statement rather than a question.

"You answer my question first," the other woman replied. "And then I will answer yours."

"You forget what country you are in, girl," Guinevere said, spitting out the word as if it were the vilest of curses. "You do as _I _say; not the other way around. Now I will ask you again who you are. If you choose not to answer, Sir Lancelot will not be alerted to your presence."

The young man accompanying the woman leaned over in his seat to speak. He had soft, curly brown hair and thoughtful yet sad eyes. His opinion obviously meant something to the woman, because she ducked her head in shame as he was talking, and she nodded once as if in understanding. When he was done speaking, she looked back up at Guinevere.

"My name is Vilensia," she said. "And this is Trabahn. That is all you need to know."

"Where do you come from?" Guinevere asked, making it explicitly clear that that was _not _all they needed to know.

"Sarmatia," Vilensia replied, looking Guinevere directly in the eye. Guinevere nodded slightly.

"And why do you wish to speak with Sir Lancelot."

Vilensia did not answer for a moment. She looked at Trabahn, who nodded softly. Then, she looked back up at Guinevere.

"Because I am his sister."

* * *

They were chasing her. Fuliciana swerved violently between trees, trying to find the exit to the forest, which seemed to never end. She heard them yelling, and suddenly one was in her path. She swung the sword wildly, and did not need to hear the thud behind her as she continued on her way to know that she had hit her mark.

"Lancelot!" she yelled, ducking below a low branch. She did not know how close she was to the treeline, but it did not matter. They would be upon her soon. She needed to find a way out.

And then she saw a speck of sky through the trees ahead. The sounds behind her faded, and she burst into open sunlight, squinting in surprise after so long in the mist. Never had the mist been used against her. She had always been able to see in it. She grew up in it. But it was a scary feeling to be utterly lost in it.

"Fuliciana?"

Fuliciana whirled around and saw Lancelot staring at her as if she had just grown another head. She turned back to face the woods, but nothing moved.

"Saxons," she panted, holding up the sword to prove that she wasn't crazy. "They attacked me…my father was not there."

"Do you think he has been taken?" Lancelot asked, drawing the two blades on his back. Fuliciana was now very glad he had insisted that he bring them along.

"It's probable," Fuliciana replied, inspecting her arms. They were littered with scratches and deep gashes from her perilous run through the forest.

"There's Arthur," Lancelot said, pointing over the hill. Arthur sat on his majestic white horse, looking down on them. He obviously sensed that something was wrong, for he started down the hill quickly. When he reached the bottom, he looked at them, waiting for them to begin.

"Saxons," Fuliciana said quickly. "In the woods. I…I believe they have taken my father."

Arthur's head snapped up to face the trees, and his hand slowly crept to his sword, fingers curling around it.

"Fuliciana, I need you to go alert the others. Tell them to be ready for a rescue mission. And tell them to hurry."

Although it was clear that Fuliciana did not like the idea of leaving them, she started up the hill swiftly, running remarkably fast in that dress.

Arthur and Lancelot turned to one another and then looked back into the trees, eyes searching for any movement. When they did not find any, they turned to each other again.

"Perhaps they did not want to venture this far out," Arthur said.

"She looked like she was being chased when she came out," Arthur replied. "She looked behind her. I believe they chased her to here."

"But if so then why would they stop there rather than attack the two of you. They knew you were alone."

"Perhaps they didn't," Lancelot replied. Arthur nodded.

"Perhaps," he said. His eyes still scanned the treeline. Suddenly, some movement caught his eye, and he dove off his horse unceremoniously as the arrow that was fired whizzed harmlessly over his head. Lancelot hurried over to him and pulled him to his feet.

"You're lucky it was a bad shot," he muttered quickly before he dropped Arthur's hand and held up his weapons, listening carefully to the rustling as the Saxons drew closer. He looked over his shoulder at Fuliciana, but could not see her. She was already over the hill.

The first Saxon to burst out of the woods charged straight at Lancelot, yelling furiously. A second followed soon after, also heading in the curly haired knight's direction. Arthur and Lancelot both charged forward, knowing very well that they could have run, but also knowing very well that they could hold their own. Lancelot clashed with the first Saxon, and Arthur fought the second, as two more burst from the trees.

The fighting was fierce, and the Saxons just kept emerging from the woods. Arthur and Lancelot kept killing, and it turned into a deadly cycle of fighting and killing and dying, and then restarting. Lancelot whirled his two swords about his head, eyes roaming the battlefield and never remaining in one place for long. Killing and stabbing, he made sure to keep Arthur always in his sights. That was why he didn't see the rock flying at his head, clutched in the hand of a Saxon, until it connected painfully with his skull. By then, it was too late, and he had already faded into unconsciousness.

* * *

Arthur saw his friend fall, and soon the Saxons overtook him, a mass of dirty and sweating bodies obstructing his view. He desperately pushed towards Lancelot, but the Saxons held him back, their sneering faces broken one by one by his mighty sword as he roared at them defiantly. He dimly noticed them falling back.

"Lancelot!" he yelled, praying that his friend was still alive. "Lancelot!"

A heavy weight struck him on the shoulder, and he fell to the ground in a very un-kingly manner, landing in a heap, his sword still clutched tightly in hand. He swung at a pair of Saxon legs above him, and tried to pull himself up, but was only knocked flat again by the edge of a sword. He looked up into the eyes of the thing that stood above him, and he kicked out violently, bringing the beast crashing down next to him.

Suddenly, with a frightening scream, Fuliciana was in the fray, whirling the bloody Saxon sword over her head as if the battle were no more dangerous than a dance. For to her, it was a dance. A dance that was as natural as breathing. She had perfected it over the years, until it was a deadly but beautiful thing to witness. The Saxons began to flee, a large group of them heading off into the trees, calling out in their own language to one another. Arthur slowly struggled to his feet, though his head swam with the effort, and he fought off the last remaining Saxon, who was attempting to crawl off with a wounded leg.

Fuliciana hurried over to where she last saw Lancelot, and gasped in horror when she saw that he wasn't there. She looked at Arthur, who nodded slightly, and Fuliciana disappeared into the forest once again.


	20. The Plan

Chapter 19! This one came fast! Long story, really, but I've had a lot of time on my hands lately.

I do have softball tryouts this week, and if I make it (hahaha don't make me laugh!) then I'll have less time for writing, but I'll try to squeeze it in. Don't worry!

Well, that's all for now. Please review, and thanks to those who DID review. I love you so much for it!

* * *

**Chapter 19: **The Plan

Vilensia walked beside Guinevere, with Trabahn walking behind her, eyes roaming the spacious garden. The young woman had since composed herself, and was less condescending than she had been before. Guinevere even found herself enjoying the company.

"He made us a promise," Vilensia said, continuing her story. "He said he would return. But he did not."

"He found reason to stay," Guinevere said, plucking a dead leaf off of one of the trees absently. "He didn't think that there would be anything to go back to. He knew that if he went back there, there might be nothing left."

"But there was!" Vilensia exclaimed. "Me! My mother! We waited for him, and when he didn't come back, I decided to go out after him."

"You did not wait very long," Guinevere said thoughtfully.

"I knew that he would have been back by the time I left. He should have been. I knew that if he was on his way to Sarmatia that I would meet him. When I did not…I thought for sure that he was dead."

"Then why not turn back?"

"Because I still had a slight hope that he might be alive. When I heard from the captain of the boat who took me here that the leader of the Sarmatian knights was now king…my hope doubled. For even if Lancelot was not alive, I hoped to speak with Arthur about him. I wanted to find out how he died."

"Fortunately for you, he's still alive," Guinevere said with a smile. She noticed Trabahn looking at her curiously, but tried not to let on that it was disturbing her. "He was recently wounded in a battle…but he has healed completely now."

"Where is he?" Vilensia asked.

"He went to find my father," Guinevere said truthfully. "My father wished to speak with my sister, and Lancelot escorted her."

"When will he be back?" Vilensia asked.

"I do not know," Guinevere replied. She opened the door in front of them, and ushered the two visitors inside. They were inside the castle, and Guinevere led them up the winding stairs to a wide hallway. A tapestry hung at one end. Vilensia looked at it, and her face immediately brightened.

"Is that Lancelot?" she asked. Guinevere nodded with a smile.

The tapestry had been made by several Woad women who had been particularly close to Fuliciana and Guinevere. It depicted the Battle of Badon Hill, and featured all of the knights. Bors was tackling a huge Saxon beast, while Galahad and Gawain fought side by side bravely. Arthur was astride his white horse, Excalibur shining in the sunlight. Tristan was stabbing the heart of a Saxon, while Guinevere and Fuliciana both fought off Crynic. Lancelot was riding towards them on Dalai, sword raised and eyes strangely piercing. It was a remarkable piece of work. Guinevere had so treasured it that she ordered it put in the hallway nearest to her room so everyone would see it.

"That is the Battle of Badon Hill," Guinevere said. "We fought it almost a year ago. We lost many men and women, but we defeated an entire Saxon force many times our number."

"Is that Arthur?" Vilensia asked, pointing correctly. Guinevere nodded and gently let her fingers trail over the fabric.

"It is," she said. "I had met him and your brother not long before the battle. They saved my sister and I from being killed in the dungeon of a Roman man."

Vilensia's eyes widened, but she registered no other surprise. Trabahn's expression remained neutral.

"Lancelot saved you?" she asked.

"He and the other seven knights, yes," Guinevere said sadly. "There are only four now. Dagonet died before we even returned here. Tristan died at the battle."

She pointed to Tristan's likeness on the fabric.

"Your brother very nearly died as well," she said after a pause. "He was shot nearly directly in the heart with an arrow, and we all thought him dead." She paused, remembering that horrible moment when she had seen Fuliciana's eyes so broken and shattered. She never wanted to see anything like that ever again. But then…she had when Elaine had made her accusation. She knew she would never forget that look in Fuliciana's eyes.

"Is something the matter?" Vilensia asked with genuine concern.

"No," Guinevere said with a small smile. "Just…those memories are painful."

"Because of my brother?"

"Yes," Guinevere said simply. "You cannot know how horrible that feeling is. To look down upon a man who was once to lovely and full of life as your brother…and to see that all the life has gone out."

She shook her head slightly, looking away from the tapestry, angry that it had got her thinking about Lancelot in a fairer light than it should have. Memories of Badon Hill always seemed to make her remember Lancelot fondly. And, though she would never have admitted it otherwise, she knew that she would never truly wish the man dead. Never.

* * *

Fuliciana ran through the fog, not knowing which way she was going, and honestly not really caring. Pausing for a moment, she heard the heavy rustling of undergrowth and rapidly changed directions, running west. The rustling stopped, and then suddenly sped up, moving towards her. She tensed, bracing herself. She raised her weapon in the air, and then brought it crashing down upon the figure that exited the mist. The Saxon let out a wild shriek of pain, and Fuliciana stabbed through him again, silencing it.

She took off running again, wildly crashing through the undergrowth, her dress catching every few moments on the sharp thorns. Her legs were bleeding from many cuts, and her arms from many more, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Lancelot was in there. He was with them.

The rustling once again changed direction. She spun around and charged through the fog. Suddenly, something slammed into her. She dropped her sword and gave a mighty scream, facing her opponent. But then Arthur's arms wrapped her in a firm hug, and she allowed herself to cry into his shoulder. Because the rustling had stopped, and she knew as well as he did that Lancelot was gone.

* * *

Galahad raced up the stairs, panting and out of breath as he started down the hall.

"Gawain!" he yelled. "Gawain!"

Gawain wasn't there, but he spotted Guinevere down the hall.

"Galahad?" Guinevere asked, eyes widening in surprise when he staggered to a stop in front of her, panting and looking around wildly.

"Saxons," he said. "Fuliciana and Lancelot. Arthur."

"No!" Guinevere whispered. She looked at Vilensia and Trabahn. "Come with me. Galahad, you too. I'll send a servant to find Gawain. Do you know where Bors is?"

"At the stables waiting."

"Good. Come."

She took off at a run down the hall, with the others following her anxiously. Trabahn and Vilensia exchanged a glance. When Trabahn saw the worried creases on Vilensia's forehead, he gently reached over and clasped her hand.

* * *

Guinevere grabbed a sword off the rack in the stables and expertly leapt onto a horse. Vilensia and Trabahn got on their own horses, and Galahad joined them on Dalai. His own horse was gone.

"Gawain," he said knowingly. Gawain had been borrowing Franta ever since his own horse had died.

"We don't have time to look for him," Guinevere said, nodding to Jols, who opened the stable doors. Guinevere charged forward, and the others followed her, with Bors bringing up the back. They galloped out to the wall, and the doors were thrown open for them.

Guinevere led them down the hill, to where they could see the Saxon bodies littered across the ground. Before they even reached the bottom, she leapt off her horse and dove to the ground, eyes roaming the bodies frantically.

"She's not there," Galahad said, sounding sick.

"Who?" Vilensia asked, daintily stepping off her horse.

"No, no, no," Guinevere murmured, turning and looking at Galahad with tear-filled eyes.

"Maybe they…" Galahad said, but then Arthur burst out of the trees. Fuliciana followed soon after. Guinevere gave a very uncharacteristic scream of delight and ran to them, embracing them each with one arm and then pulling Fuliciana to her and laying her sister's head on her chest.

"I thought they took you," she whispered.

"Lancelot," Fuliciana murmured. Guinevere pulled away slightly, eyes widening in horror.

"No," she whispered disbelievingly.

"They took him," Arthur sobbed.

"Lancelot?" Vilensia asked.

"Why would they take him?" Fuliciana asked, her voice rising. "Why?"

"We'll find him," Guinevere said nervously. "We'll find him."

"And we'll kill every last one of those Saxon bastards who took him too," Galahad said reassuringly.

"I'll help," Trabahn said quietly. Galahad nodded. He liked the soft spoken, curly haired boy, even if he did not even know who he was.

"We need all the men we can get," he said. "As long as you are experienced in stealth."

"I come from Sarmatia too, sir knight," the boy said with an even tone. Galahad looked at him in surprise.

"This is Lancelot's sister," Guinevere said sadly. All eyes turned to Vilensia. Even Fuliciana wiped her eyes and gained her composure enough to look at her, eyes wide.

"Gods," Arthur whispered. "He thought you were dead."

Vilensia's eyes were shining with moisture, but she stubbornly held it back. No one knew what to do, so they just stood there until finally Arthur took command and they started back towards the fort, trudging with all of their minds on Lancelot.

* * *

The squat Saxon soldier huffed into Cyrnic's tent, trying to hide his smile.

"Sir," he said, bowing low. "We have acquired the prisoner."

"Good," Cyrnic said. "Are you sure he is the right one?"

"Yes," the man said. "Gratola is certain."

"But are you?"

"I don't see how there could not be another," said the other carefully.

"Put him with the blue man. Tie him up. Leave him some meat. Don't cook it. We'll see how long it takes him to fold. Await further command."

"Yes, sir."

When the other had left, Cyrnic smiled to himself. His plan was falling into place.


	21. Brothers, and a Grave Misunderstanding

20! I'm on a roll! I like writing this!

Okay, so you know the drill. Review and I will love you and hug you and make you my best friend. And those who have reviewed, you know I love you and hug to and make you my best friends!

**_IMPORTANT _**Okay…so not like WICKED important, but pretty important. I need your input for something. Now…I'm going to have a poll about the ending of the story. The question is: Do you want a sad ending, or a happy ending? Now, this happy sad thing is pertaining to one back-story. It may not necessarily pertain at all to Lancelot and Fuliciana. In fact…I'll tell you right now that it's not. I've already got all of that planned out. But…do you want this backstory, which is my little secret, to be sad or happy_? **SAD OR HAPPY**_**__ **Just so ya'll get the message, haha.

Okay…so enjoy. And remember to vote! Voting is KEY!

* * *

**Chapter 20: **Brothers, and a Grave Misunderstanding

"What are we going to do?" Bors asked for what felt like and probably was the thousandth time that night, only this time his speech was far more slurred than it had been before. The other knights only rolled their eyes at his drunkenness, though they were as drunk as he was.

"How many ales 'ave you 'ad?" Gawain asked, his accent ridiculously heavy due in part to his drunken state.

"I bet he hasn't had more than you," Guffawed Silarion. Silarion wasn't really a knight, but a Roman soldier who had come to Briton to escape some kind of punishment. Arthur hadn't really asked and questions, but had offered the man a position with the knights. They still treated him like a child, though he wasn't any younger than they were.

"'E's 'ad more than me, you Roman fool! Look at 'im! 'E's practically falling out of 'is chair!"

Bors didn't appear to be listening. He was just staring at the table as if angry with it, his brow furrowed with concentration. The other two laughed hysterically at the sight until they were falling upon one another and yelling absolute foolishness.

None of the three realized that Galahad wasn't there. But he was watching them; leaning against the wall in the shadows with arms folded across his chest. If anyone had been looking at him, they would have seen that his eyes were hard and his jaw set. Very uncharacteristic of the young knight who was usually so full of laughter.

"Galahad?"

Galahad started with surprise and came out of his pose against the wall, looking to the left into the deep shadows. As he watched, the newcomer appeared. Trabahn.

"Yes?" Galahad asked.

"I was hoping I could have a word with you," he said. "I wanted to speak with you alone."

"All right," Galahad said, nodding and pushing away from the wall. "The garden."

Trabahn nodded and followed the older man wordlessly to the aforementioned garden. When they were safe inside the walls, away from the loud guffawing of the three drunk fools in the tavern, Galahad turned to Trabahn and waited for what the boy would say.

Trabahn was hesitating. He looked down at the ground and sighed slightly, his curls flopping over his eyes. Galahad smiled. The boy reminded him of Lancelot, with his soulful, large eyes and his sad expression.

"What is it you wanted to talk about?" Galahad asked kindly.

"What do you think the chances are that we are going to get Lancelot back?" Trabahn asked. Galahad sighed.

"I believe that we will get Lancelot back eventually," Galahad replied. "It's just a question of whether or not he is alive."

Trabahn nodded as if he had expected the answer. He gave a humorless huff of a laugh, turning his thoughtful eyes upward from the ground to rest on Galahad's.

"It's frustrating that we come so far only to have him snatched away before we get to speak with him," he said with a sigh.

"What is your connection to him?" Galahad asked. "Are you his brother?"

Trabahn gave an odd smile and looked at Galahad for a long moment, just staring at him as if trying to think of what to say. After so long a moment that Galahad was sure he had forgotten the question, Trabahn answered. And the answer sent a chill straight to Galahad's spine.

"No," the boy said. "I am yours."

* * *

Lancelot slowly became aware of the throbbing pain in his head and wrists, and the sharper pain in his ribs. Though barely conscious, disoriented, and confused, he knew enough to keep his breathing shallow and his eyes closed.

The last thing he remembered was fighting with Saxons…and then nothing. After fifteen years of battle, Lancelot guessed that he had been knocked unconscious and taken hostage. Not a position that he enjoyed being in, though it had happened several times before.

He was kneeling on the ground, and his hands were bound behind him, his head slumped, causing a small cramp in his neck. However, that pain was dwarfed next to every other hurt that seemed to be on fire. He listened for noise, but there didn't appear to be any. Slowly he opened his eyes, keeping his head bowed so that no one could see that he was awake if they happened to be in there with him.

It was completely and utterly dark. There was no cloth in front of Lancelot's eyes hindering his sight, but there was no light either. If he listened, he could hear people dimly talking, but they seemed to be at a distance.

He was about to raise his head when something moved in front of him. It was all he could do not to flinch away from the sound, but he remained perfectly still, remembering his breathing.

"Lancelot?"

He did not recognize the rough, rasping voice that dark out of the silence. The voice came from before him, not close, but yet not far away. It repeated his name over, but still Lancelot did not answer. The owner of the voice apparently gave up and fell silent. After several more minutes, the shifting continued.

"Damn it all, Lancelot. I know you're awake. Answer me!"

Lancelot realized that he did know the voice. It was Granort.

"Granort?" he asked, just to make certain. His throat was horribly dry and sore, and he nearly gagged at the taste of blood that was there.

"Yes," Granort replied. "Can you move?"

"I can move my head," Lancelot said. "But that's it."  
Granort muttered something under his breath that Lancelot was pretty certain had some kind of insult in it. Then, the woad made some more movements and sighed.

"It's useless," he said with a sigh. "They plan on keeping us here."

"Saxons?" Lancelot asked.

"Yes, the Saxons you thick-skulled fool! I told Arthur we should have hunted them down when we had the chance!"

Lancelot barely refrained from groaning. He wondered what he had done that had so upset the gods that they had trapped him with the only person on the planet that he could honestly say that he despised. He wondered if Granort would buy it if he feigned unconsciousness again. Somehow he doubted it.

"What do they want with us?" he asked instead. Granort snorted derisively.

"I don't know!" he exclaimed. "They just attacked me in a clearing and took me hostage. They didn't even fight me. They just told me to surrender."

"And you did?" Lancelot asked incredulously.

"No," Granort replied with a huff of a laugh. "But they never wanted to kill me."

Lancelot made a face and looked at Granort questioningly.

"What?" he asked.

"They have some kind of plan. I don't know what it is yet, but there's something."

"A plan…" Lancelot said thoughtfully. He sighed and looked around, further taking in his surroundings. There wasn't much to look at, actually. They were in a small tent that was filled with supplies in crates, which left barely enough room for the two prisoners. A small amount of light from the fire slipped in though the flap, and Lancelot could just barely see the shadows of the guards outside.

"They left a chunk of raw meat," Granort said, spitting out the words with disgust. "They were foolish in doing that."

"Why?" Lancelot asked. "And where is it?"

"They took it away after I threw it back in their faces," Granort said with a chuckle. "It was badly spoiled, and there were maggots in it. The Saxon who took it in the face was ripping at his tongue, trying to get the maggots out. You'd think he'd be used to it…but he didn't take the joke too kindly…hence why we're tied up."

"But why was it foolish?" Lancelot asked.

"Because," Granort said with surprising patience. "They gave it to us too early. It shows us that they want us to tell them something or do something for them. They should have waited a few days before we were starving to give us the meat. By giving us the meat so early, they're showing us that they plan to keep us for a long time."

Lancelot tried not to wince, but he did. He drew in a sharp breath and then suddenly remembered Arthur.

"What happened to Arthur?" he asked. Granort sighed and looked down at the ground, not answering. "Granort?" Lancelot's voice raised another pitch, and his eyes widened like a frightened little child. That happened to be what he was feeling at the moment, ironically.

"They said that he was killed," Granort said softly, and Lancelot was surprised when he saw tears glimmering in his eyes. Lancelot himself found the wet moisture stinging, but he could not let the tears fall. "They did not know it was Arthur. They said that the other man with you was killed."

Lancelot looked at the ground with his eyes wide and filling faster. Arthur…dead? He could not imagine it…

* * *

_"I thought I had lost you…" _

_Lancelot rested his head on Arthur's shoulder, smiling slightly as the other man's embrace tightened. As happy as Arthur was to have Lancelot alive, Lancelot knew that he would be complaining about him within the week. That was the way it always worked. And yet…_

_Something was different. Lancelot did not know what happened on the battlefield, but he knew that it must have effected Arthur greatly. His eyes were still red and puffy from crying, and he was shaking profusely. Did he really love Lancelot that much?_

_"I'm here," Lancelot said gently, wrapping his arms around his friend's shoulders, despite the pain that came with the movement. "And I'm not going to leave you."_

_"Good," Arthur murmured, his hand wiping away the tears that had started to fall. "Never do anything like that to me again."_

_Rather than insert a sarcastic comment at that moment as he usually would, Lancelot looked seriously at Arthur and saw the caring in the older man's deep green eyes. _

_"I won't," he said quietly. "I won't. Ever."

* * *

_

Now Arthur was gone. He had done to Lancelot what he himself had most feared. And Lancelot wasn't sure he could take it.

* * *

Fuliciana sat in her bed being tended to by Guinevere and Vilensia. They talked to her, trying to reassure her that everything was going to be all right, and that they were going to get Lancelot and her father back. Nothing could make her come out of her shocked state, and she just sat there staring down at her hands in her lap with a steady stream of tears coming out of her eyes.

When they gave up and eventually left her alone, closing the door behind them, Fuliciana just turned over onto her stomach and cried; huge gulping sobs that wracked her body until she was shaking from sheer exhaustion. It was a horrible sight to witness, and for the two men watching, it was nearly unbearable.

Galahad told Trabahn to wait in the hallway, and he slowly opened the door. Fuliciana heard the squeaking as the door opened, and she looked up to see him, her lower lip trembling.

"Galahad," she whimpered, getting to her feet and crossing the room to him, looking very much like a small child who just woke from a terrible nightmare. She flung her arms around his neck, and he held her as she wept.

"Cry," he said gently. "It will feel better."

"Nothing will feel better ever again," Fuliciana wailed. "Not if he's not here."

"I know," Galahad whispered. "I know. But do not worry about that now. We will get him back. I promise you."

He rocked her back and forth, arms wrapped around her tightly as she cried. For he knew that that was the only thing he _could _do. Because there was nothing that would make her feel better if Lancelot was not there.

And out in the hallway Trabahn watched and turned down the hallway towards Vilensia's room with a heavy sigh. And long after he left, Galahad and Fuliciana stood there, until Galahad gently lowered Fuliciana to the bed, and she fell asleep there, in his arms, still shaking with silent sobs long into the night.


	22. The Exchange on the Wall

Ooooooh, almost done with the story! I'm so excited. Sooooo excited!

Okay, well, just wanna say thanks for reading and reviewing, as always, and sorry that this took so long. Life isn't bitch-slapping any more. It's more like biting me on the ass, which is better, I guess, lol.

So please review again! You all know how I love it!

* * *

**Chapter 21: **The Exchange on the Wall

When the sun rose the next day, Fuliciana was lying atop her bed, not beneath the covers, her head lying on her arm, which was stained wet with tears. She felt as if she had been awake for an eternity, and she did not bother to look out her window at what she knew would be a glorious morning.

"By all rights, it should be raining," said a tired voice from the doorway. Fuliciana looked up and saw Arthur standing in the doorway, looking down at her with sadness in his eyes. Fuliciana sat up and looked at him with an expression that could only be described as heartbroken relief. Because she knew that Arthur was the only one who could understand what she was feeling. Because Arthur was the only one besides herself who held Lancelot closest to their heart out of anybody.

"We will find him, won't we?" Fuliciana whispered brokenly. Arthur nodded vehemently.

"We will," he promised, his voice rough. "We have to."

"We have to," Fuliciana repeated in agreement. Arthur stood there for several moments before crossing the room and holding out his arms. Fuliciana latched onto them and lay there, much like she had with Galahad, as Arthur soothed her, and she soothed him in return.

* * *

Trabahn entered Vilensia's room a little later in the day, but still no one was awake. She, however, was sitting on her bed, her feet tucked up under her as she stared vacantly out the window.

"What are you doing?" Trabahn asked curiously.

"From here, I can see where he was taken," Vilensia replied softly. ""I am watching for him, hoping that he got away."

"We will find him," Trabahn said assuredly, though he wasn't feeling too confident at the moment.

"I hope so," Vilensia replied. "I would like to see my brother at least once more before I die, or he does."

"Let's talk about something else," Trabahn said, sitting on the bed, facing the door while Vilensia faced the opposite, looking her in the eye. "_When _we find Lancelot…what then?"

"What do you mean 'what then'?" Vilensia asked with indignation.

"What do we do?" Trabahn asked. "When we find Lancelot, what then? He will not leave with us."

Vilensia froze and turned to look at Trabahn for the first time in their exchange, her mouth opened to say something, but with nothing coming out. She obviously hadn't thought about that.

"He will," she said after a moment, but she said it weakly and without conviction. "Once he learns that my mother and I are alive, then he will come."

"No, he won't," Trabahn said gently, but firmly. "He has too much here. Why would he leave his very life behind for two people who he doesn't even know, only in memories."

"What do you suggest?" Vilensia asked angrily. Trabahn shrugged.

"Perhaps we can send a message to our families and tell them what is here."

"They will not want to leave. And what if the message gets lost, or does not go through?"

"I will take it myself," Trabahn said. "If I am not back in a year, then you can send another."

Vilensia shivered slightly and shook her head, looking down at the bedspread.

"I don't know what to do," she murmured softly, and when she looked back up at Trabahn, her eyes were glittering with tears. This surprised him, for he had never known her to cry when she was lost. She was a woman of Sarmatia, and those women did not often show their emotions.

He reached up and brushed her tears away with his thumb, making a soothing noise as he did so.

"Do not cry, Vili," he whispered softly, and his thumb gently traveled down to her lips. She stared at him with anticipation, and he knew what he had to do. He leaned forward ever so slightly and brushed his lips against hers. He started to pull away, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into her.

* * *

Guinevere, Arthur, Fuliciana, Galahad, Gawain, Bors, Silarion, Trabahn, and Vilensia all sat around the Round Table in the great hall, completely silent as Arthur thought with head down on his hands, the heels of which were pressed into his eyes.

"I don't like it," he said finally. "I want to go. I want to be there."

"You can't," Fuliciana replied. "You have to stay here. I think that is their plan, to capture you. They must have known that Lancelot was your closest friend. They must have known that you would go after them."

"But I still want to be there," Arthur replied. Fuliciana sighed and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I know that you want to be there. I know that you want to save him, but in this situation, you have to let us do the work."

Arthur looked around at the assembly and sighed. He knew that Fuliciana was right. He couldn't go flying into the woods into a Saxon ambush, only to be captured and have the kingdom he had worked so hard to obtain fall in his absence. He had to stay there.

"Are you going?" he asked Guinevere. She nodded slowly.

"Yes," she said. "I will go."

Fuliciana nodded and stood up.

"We will…" she began, but suddenly Jols burst into the room, looking out of breath and frightened.  
"Arthur!" he exclaimed. "Saxons approaching the wall. They have Lancelot."

Arthur froze and just stared at Jols, his mind refusing to respond to that statement. He waited for the inevitable next statement, not breathing, his heart not beating…

"Well?" Galahad asked Jols under his breath. Jols started.

"He's alive," he said reassuringly. Arthur, without a word, stood and crossed the room, flinging open the door and storming out. After a brief pause, Fuliciana stood as well. Then everyone pushed back their chairs, stood up, and rushed out of the room after him.

* * *

Lancelot was hauled and shoved up the hill, and kicked when he didn't move fast enough. Once, when he fell, one of the guards delivered so solid a blow to his back that he thought was going to break his spine. They all laughed when he hissed in pain, and then kicked him in the stomach to 'even the pain'.

Lancelot wondered how they were faring in Arthur's absence. He wondered if there would be panic. The only thing that could make him happy was the thought that they would never be able to use Arthur for whatever evil purposes they had in mind.

When they were close enough to the wall to be within shouting distance, Lancelot was shoved to his knees, after a rough blow to the head that left him dazed and unable to focus. His head lolled forward, and he found himself looking at the ground, at the blood that dripped onto the ground from the cut above his eye which had been dealt to him by a Saxon soldier who thought he was being cheeky. Lancelot had rolled his eyes when the man had told him to move faster, and when the Saxon reprimanded him, Lancelot responded with 'I'm sorry, after you kidnapped me and beat me, do you want me to smile? Would you smile if captured?' The man, though he did not deserve to be called by that name, was not pleased.

It was a source of delusional entertainment for Lancelot to count the drops of blood that fell from his wound. And with every drop came a flash of his life; some chapter that he revisited before the memories would be created no more.

* * *

_"I thought I had lost you."_

_Lancelot sighed and shook his head, laughing weakly. _

_"I thought I lost myself," he replied. Arthur didn't laugh. Lancelot sighed and shifted uncomfortably. Arthur took that as a sign to sit in the chair beside Lancelot's bed, and so he did, leaning back and looking at his friend. _

_"You're very pale," he noticed. "You're lying."_

_"I feel fine, Arthur," Lancelot said in reply, rolling his eyes slightly. Arthur knew that it was just a proud façade put on to ward him off. He knew that Lancelot didn't like it when other people worried about him. He also knew that Lancelot knew that Arthur was going to worry no matter what. So he didn't bother to hide it._

_"You don't," Arthur replied bluntly. "Don't lie to me! You were just shot in the chest with a crossbow bolt! How can you feel fine?"_

_Lancelot sighed and shrugged, running a hand through his hair, trying to make it seem like the movement didn't hurt at all, though it was clear that it did. _

_"Don't worry about me," he said with a small smile. "I'll manage."_

_"You always seem to pull through," Arthur replied, rolling his eyes only slightly. Lancelot just laughed and shrugged. What could he say? It was the truth.

* * *

_

Arthur ran to the wall before anyone else got there, but Fuliciana was hot on his heels. She overtook him before they got to the stairs, and when she reached the bottom, she turned around and held out her arms, placing her hands firmly on the stone wall on either side of her.

"Stop," she said firmly. Arthur stopped and gave her a look that clearly said he wasn't amused. "We have to look calm," she said. Arthur noticed that her face was as smooth as stone; not giving anything away at all. "They will take advantage of our panic if they sense it."

Arthur knew that there was truth in her words, and he nodded gravely, pausing a moment to compose himself before gently pushing past Fuliciana and ascending the stairs. By this time, the others had caught up to them, and they were following Fuliciana and Arthur's example and walking slowly up the stairs with emotionless facades, though every one of them was shaking with concealed nervousness.

When they reached the top of the wall and looked down, the sight that greeted them was one to behold. A group of Saxons, perhaps thirty, stood behind Lancelot and a man who was apparently the Saxon leader. If anyone were to harm the leader in anyway, Lancelot would be dead before they could take any action.

Lancelot was covered in blood and discoloring bruises. His hair, usually sleek and shining as a result of its owners pride in it, was matted with blood and dirty. His eyes, cast to the ground, were empty and defeated. Everyone present was heartbroken at the sight, and Fuliciana could hardly suppress a sob. As it was, she had to turn to Galahad, and he put a strong hand on her back, steadying her in case she were to faint. (Though, anyone who knew Fuliciana knew that that was an absurd suggestion.)

The Saxon leader, a bald man with a long, blonde braided beard, surveyed them haughtily and laughed slightly to himself.

"This is the great Arthur?" he asked with a snort. Lancelot did not move. "The one who makes my army quiver in their boots? The one who commanded a nation against my father?"

Arthur started at that and looked at the man below with incredulity. Fuliciana had her eyes on him and was staring him from heard to toe. To her, who had only caught glimpses of the man at Badon Hill who had almost killed Lancelot, this was that same man. But, she reasoned, Lancelot clearly killed the man. This could not be the same one.

"I am Arthur," Arthur said lowly, his voice dangerous. At the sound of his voice, Lancelot shook himself slightly, and his eyes rose. When he saw Arthur looking down at him with that same look that he had been giving the knight for fifteen years, the one that said 'what have you gotten yourself into this time?', a great smile lit upon his features, and he laughed under his breath, muttering something.

Had any been able to hear him, they would have heard him say, "Well, Granort, looks like you got it wrong."

Hardly surprising.

"You are hardly a God," Cyrnic sneered. "You are simply a man."

"Your father said something nearly identical to him," Fuliciana spoke up with a cold calm that surprised everyone there. "And he did not live to see the sun set."

Cyrnic glowered slightly, but after a moment it was gone, and he shrugged.

"My father was a fool," he said offhandedly. "I will not make the same mistakes as he."

"You have already made a grave one," Fuliciana replied in a voice that sent chills to the spines of all of the Saxon men who had been staring at her with admiration. Her voice was so sure and seductive, so deadly and cold, that none of them even dared to say that she was lying. Because they could hear it in her voice that she was telling the truth. And there wasn't one of them who immediately began to look around for a possible ambush.

"And what might that be, beauty?" Cyrnic asked.

"You want me to tell you?" Fuliciana asked. "Do you think I am such a fool, pig, that I would?"

"Perhaps," Cyrnic replied with confidence, snorting like the pig he was (unintentionally, of course, which made it all the more funny to Lancelot, who laughed under his breath.)

"Well, you are mistaken," Fuliciana replied. "Another grave error on your part. I think that you are not so much like your father as your bumbling fool of a brother."

Cyrnic gave a violent jolt of anger and stared with horror at Fuliciana, as if she had just said some blasphemous deed. The expression was gone in a moment, but that moment was all that was needed. They had rattled him, and they knew that it would work to their advantage somehow.

"I am here to discuss the prisoner," Cyrnic said lowly. Arthur's head came up proudly.

"What do you want with him?" he asked.

"I want to trade. Him for you."

Lancelot looked up and shook his head incredulously. Though the faces above remained as stony as the wall they stood upon, a slight flicker in Arthur's eyes revealed his emotions to Lancelot. He saw that Arthur was considering it.

Lancelot knew that Arthur would never listen to him. So he looked at Fuliciana, who had not taken her eyes off of him since she had finished speaking. He shook his head slowly, and she repeated the action, her eyes desperate. Lancelot, after spending nearly every waking hour with the woman for a year, found it easy to convey his thoughts by just a mere movement of his head, or a emotion in the eye.

_We can't do it_, he said without words. She shook her head violently.

_What are we going to do, then? _He heard her ask in his head.

_There is nothing we can do._

_There must be._

_There isn't._

_I'm not going to let you give up._

_What else am I supposed to do? There is nothing!_

_There is! Lancelot, you know Arthur will not let you die!_

Arthur had not noticed this wordless exchange, and he looked up at Guinevere, looking for guidance. Fuliciana and Lancelot continued their 'conversation'.

_You cannot let him do this. You cannot let him trade me for him. He is too valuable to all of you._

Her silence was enough. He knew that she agreed. She had to. There was no doubting that Arthur needed to live. He knew that Fuliciana did not like what he had just conveyed to her, but she knew it was the truth, and that was enough.

"I will accept your terms," Arthur said slowly, looking at Cyrnic with hatred. But then Fuliciana did something that surprised everyone there except Lancelot.

"No," she replied. "He doesn't."

Cyrnic narrowed his eyes slightly at the intrusion. Arthur looked at Fuliciana questioningly.

"What?" he asked. "There isn't another option…"

"No," Fuliciana replied. "You can't do it. You have to be here."

Arthur sighed and lowered his head close to Fuliciana's to converse without anyone else hearing.

"They will kill Lancelot," he murmured. "They will not kill me. They need me."

"No," Fuliciana replied. "It does not matter. We need you here. Without you, everything falls apart."

Arthur sighed in reluctant agreement and turned to face Cyrnic, who was waiting with a frown on his face. Arthur took a deep breath and looked at Lancelot with sorrow as he said the words.

"Never."


	23. The Beginnings of a Plan

Okay, so here it is! Chapter 22! I've been doing a lot of writing lately, I noticed, but none of it was from this story! So, I decided that an update was needed and…voila, here we are!

Yet another favorite character has been added to my 'favorite characters who die' list. (I swear to God, it's a curse.) Boone from Lost. I don't think I've ever cried so hard during a movie or television show. Seriously, you want a good cry, just watch that show. It's so crazy. I've cried during four separate episodes. And that's a lot for me.

Please remember to review, and thanks to those who already reviewed. You make my day!

* * *

**Chapter 22:** The Beginnings of a Plan

Cyrnic's eyes narrowed, and he stared at Arthur as if he was trying to figure out what trick Arthur might be playing on him. Arthur's eyes swam with the difficulty of looking indifferent.

"You're just going to let your knight die, Arthur?" Crynic asked mockingly, beckoning to one of his men. The beast stepped forward and pulled Lancelot up by his hair, shoving him forward, closer to the wall. Then, he pulled out his sword.

Fuliciana, horrified, took a step back from the wall and shook her head disbelievingly. Galahad put a hand on her back and held her upright, though he didn't look so steady himself. Trabahn did the same for Vilensia, and they all watched with bated breath.

"Do you want to change your mind?" Cyrnic asked calmly. Arthur looked back at Fuliciana, who looked at Lancelot.

_"You knew this was going to happen," _Lancelot's expression said. _"Nothing has changed."_

_"I know. I love you," _was Fuliciana's reply, and then she turned to Arthur and shook her head.

"No," Arthur said painfully. "I do not want to change my mind."

Cyrnic nodded, and the man standing in front of Lancelot lifted his sword into the air."

"Wait!" Fuliciana screamed suddenly, breaking away from Galahad and running to the edge of the wall. "Don't do it!"

The man stopped, grinning evilly with his rotten teeth. Lancelot looked at Fuliciana with surprise, and an expression that clearly was not happy.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked painfully.

"I have a plan that may save Lancelot," Fuliciana replied. Then, she spoke louder, and to Cyrnic. "Will you give us some time to think about our decision?"

"Why do you need time to think?" Cyrnic asked suspiciously.

"This is a decision that we need to discuss, in depth," Fuliciana replied. "Please, let us have some time."

Cyrnic, obviously seeing that something could be gained from patience, nodded.

"Fine," he said. "We will return here tomorrow at this same time. But know that I am leaving some men in the trees. If they see any sign of unusual behavior, they _will _report back to me, and you knight will be dead."

"Understood," Arthur said lowly.

With that, Cyrnic turned and waved his hand to the men. The man who had been about to kill Lancelot put away his weapon, looking sorely disappointed, and he pulled Lancelot to his feet, shoving him forward faster than he could go. Lancelot sprawled on the ground, his hands, bound at his sides, not moving to stop himself from falling. The Saxon delivered a swift kick to Lancelot's spine, and Fuliciana and Arthur both had to clench their fists at their side in a desperate attempt not to cry out.

"Get up you filthy worm," the Saxon spat, kicking Lancelot again. After a moment of stunned silence, Lancelot slowly climbed to his feet. He gave Fuliciana and Arthur one last loving look, and then he was prodded along, walking until they reached the trees and stepped inside.

No one moved until the last Saxon had disappeared into the trees. When at last all traces of Lancelot and his escorts were gone from sight, Fuliciana turned to Arthur, and with visible effort, she kept herself under control.

"We have to move fast," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. Arthur noticed that she was shaking, but he knew that if he even hinted at a suggestion that she sit down and rest, there would be Hell to pay. So he just looked at her quizzically and asked what she was talking about. "We're going to follow them," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You heard what they said!" Arthur exclaimed. "They're going to be watching."

"They're not going to see us," Fuliciana said with determination. "We're going to use the old way."

Arthur knew what she meant by the 'old way', oddly enough. The Woads used to use a certain place at the wall where the trees were rather thick to climb over and assault the knights from the southern side. They had also used the same method to climb back. It was a foolproof way to get over the wall without anyone noticing.

"We don't even know where they are!" Arthur protested.

"We will kill the Saxon guards from behind," Fuliciana said slowly. "And then we will track Lancelot."

Arthur sighed.

"You could get him killed," he said with conviction.

"Nothing else we do will lead him to another fate," Fuliciana retorted.

After a short pause, Arthur nodded.

"All right," he said. "Who is going with you?"

"I do not know," Fuliciana returned. "Let me think for a while."

* * *

She retreated to her room, where she locked the door and sat on her bed, finally opening the floodgates and letting out her tears. She didn't bother keeping her sobs quiet. She knew that no one was in the castle, but they were all outside, waiting for news of Lancelot.

She couldn't believe how close she had come to watching him die. She couldn't believe that they were going to risk his death. She also couldn't believe that Cyrnic was stupid enough to let them have the extra time. No military commander in their right mind would let them have the time, because more time gave them more time to think and strategize. That gave them an edge. In fact, it gave them a large one, because they knew that Cyrnic obviously didn't know what he was doing.

Though Fuliciana tried to focus on the strategy, her mind kept wandering to that one instant, when Lancelot's captor had raised the sword above his head, ready to kill Lancelot. Her heart had literally stopped, at that moment, and she wasn't entirely sure that it had started again. She had been so afraid. So…so weak at that moment, that a gust of wind would have blown her over.

A knock at the door interrupted her from her thoughts. She stood up and hurriedly wiped her eyes. She didn't need to look in the mirror to know that her eyes were red and puffy. At that point, it just didn't matter anymore. If her eyes _weren't_ red and puffy, then there would be some questions raised, most likely.

She hurried to the door and opened it, peering out into the dimly lit hallway. It was, as expected, Galahad.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to sound angry, but sounding more forlorn than anything.

"I don't want you to be alone," Galahad replied. "You shouldn't be. Not now. Not with everything that's happening…"

"I don't know what to do," Fuliciana said, her voice surprisingly steady. "I don't know who to take. I don't even know if this is going to work! If it fails…"

"It will not fail," Galahad interrupted. "You have to believe in that with everything in you if it is to succeed, Fuliciana. You are a strong woman with a good head. If you think things through carefully, it will work."

"Sometimes things don't go quite as expected," Fuliciana whispered fearfully. "I'm afraid that something will happen…and then Lancelot will die because we made a mistake."

"Nothing we can do can harm him, now," Galahad whispered thoughtfully. "We cannot trade Arthur. If we do not do this…then he will die without a doubt."

Fuliciana nodded slightly, eyes cast to the ground.

"Who shall I take?" she asked. "Would you come?"

Galahad gave a humorless little chuckle, and shook his head.

"Do you think I would let you go out there without me by your side?" he asked. Fuliciana smiled slightly as well, though there was an equal lack of mirth in her expression.

"I would hope not," she said. "I need you on this one."

"I know," Galahad replied, finally wrapping his arms around his friend. "I know."

* * *

Lancelot was thrown roughly into the tent, and kicked several times to make certain that he wouldn't be getting up. Granort, who was pretending to be asleep, was left alone. As soon as the Saxons left, his head came up, and he stared at Lancelot indifferently.

"Looks like they didn't kill you," he said, as if trying to be funny.

Lancelot, shaking from fear, pain, and sorrow, didn't answer. He only lay there, using all of his energy to breathe. Every breath was like a new fire being lit in his stomach, and it took all his will not to hiss in pain.

"I also see that you don't want to talk about it," Granort remarked, rolling his eyes.

"Arthur is alive," Lancelot managed to gasp out, rolling over onto his back, with his bound hands clasped on his stomach. "He was at the wall."

"Not dead?" Granort asked. He made a humming noise and shrugged. "Well, that's good."

Lancelot didn't reply to that, but just looked at the ceiling of the tent and thought to himself. There had to be _something _that he could do. _Anything_ to get himself out of there.

"Was…was Fuliciana there?" Granort asked, trying to sound like he didn't care. Lancelot saw right through the mask of indifference and looked at the older man with surprise. Granort had never shown one bit of caring for his daughter, and now suddenly he was asking after her? When she was not in any danger at all?

"Yes," he panted. "She was there."

Granort nodded and looked slightly relieved. He looked like he was going to say something, but he was interrupted by the tent flap being thrown aside, and the sun being blocked by a huge beastly Saxon standing in the doorway. He tried to feign unconsciousness once again, but the man saw him, and gave him a swift kick for it before turning to Lancelot.

Grabbing Lancelot's collar, he pulled him to his feet roughly, not giving him a chance to steady himself before shoving him towards the exit. Granort watched though half-lidded eyes, with real concern etched onto his forehead.

Lancelot didn't even struggle. He didn't move. He just allowed himself to be carted out into the cold air, and brought into yet another tent; this one dirtier and smaller than the first. There were crates of stolen supplies in this one, so there was barely enough room for him. Still, the Saxon found a small part somewhat near the opening of the tent, and tied Lancelot's bound hands to one of the crates so he was kneeling in the dirt.

Without saying a word, the Saxon left, leaving Lancelot to wonder exactly why they had moved him, and If Granort was going to be moved as well. After a few hours passed, he figured that Granort wasn't joining him, and he began examining his surroundings, looking for possible ways to escape. Of course, he knew, in the back of his mind, that escape was impossible. His hands were bound so tightly and with so much rope that he could not move his fingers or wrists even a fraction. He wasn't going to get out.

* * *

"I want to come."

Fuliciana looked, surprised, at Vilensia, who stood in front of her with her blonde hair shimmering down her shoulders, wearing a white, filmy dress.

"You want to come," Fuliciana repeated. "Are you…certain?"

"Very," Vilensia replied. "I am his sister."

Fuliciana knew that Vilensia still hadn't been told the extent of she and Lancelot's relationship, and she decided that she wasn't going to be the one to tell the girl. Instead, she nodded slowly.

"That you are," she said. "But this is a dangerous mission, Vilensia. There are _so_ many things that could go wrong. Anything could happen, and you could be killed."

"I know," Vilensia replied. "I am aware that my life could be…endangered."

"The moment you step out from this castle, your life is in danger," Fuliciana replied. "And so is Lancelot's. Because if you do anything wrong…then he may be killed."

Vilensia nodded empathetically.

"Trust me," she said. "I will do everything to the best of my ability."

Fuliciana didn't want to say that that was what she was worried about; that the best of Vilensia's ability just wasn't enough. Instead, she nodded with a heavy sigh.

"You can come if your heart is set on it," she said slowly. "I will not forbid you. But…you may want to think more carefully."

"My mind is made up," Vilensia said. "I am going."

"Fine," Fuliciana growled, deciding that if the girl wasn't going to be respectful, then she didn't have to be either. "Let us just hope that I don't regret my decision to let you."

She started down the hall briskly, wanting to be left alone, but Vilensia followed her, jaw set in determination, which Fuliciana found amusing despite her sadness and rage.

"I have just as much right as you to be going. More so, in fact. I am his sister. What are you to him that makes you so important to this mission? His _friend_."

Fuliciana stopped walking and turned around to face the girl, eyes narrowed and chest heaving.

"I was to be his wife in a week," she said evenly. She waited until she saw the horror on Vilensia's face before she turned and stalked away.


	24. Time

Okay, well, here it is…rather short, actually, but I actually have been rather busy lately. That and it's school vacation, so I'm out almost every night. (Not complaining!)

So, thanks as always for my reviewers. I love you sooo much! And please remember to review again, of course. You know how much I appreciate it.

* * *

**Chapter 23: **Time

Fuliciana stood atop the wall, looking out at the green plains where she could usually see wild horses running in the distance. However, on this day, there were none, as if the gods were trying to take from her everything that she enjoyed and loved.

She knew that Galahad would find her. Galahad always seemed to know just where to look for her. Whether she was alone in her room or surrounded by crowds of her own people, he was always there. He was just like Tristan in that respect, and Fuliciana wondered if Tristan had been teaching Galahad something in his dreams.

With a sudden jolt of surprise, she realized that Tristan had not appeared in her dreams for some time. In fact, she hadn't had a dream in several nights. While she was wondering, she forgot to be on the lookout for Galahad, and he appeared at her shoulder.

"Why are you the only one who doesn't seem to understand that I want to be left alone?" she asked him seriously, shaking her head. "I have to think."

"You have to think? You have to _act_," Galahad replied. "All this thinking isn't doing any good. We have to get out there now and save him."

Fuliciana couldn't argue, but she still didn't agree. She didn't know what in Hell she wanted, and that bothered her. She was used to knowing what she wanted to do, even if it turned out to be the wrong decision. But in this case…too much was on the line for her to rush into her decision making as she usually did.

"My plan could kill him," she said slowly.

"Not taking any action could kill him as well," Galahad replied.

"My plan could kill him sooner," Fuliciana retorted.

"Then let's not draw out his death, and let's act as soon as possible. If he's going to die, then he's going to die, and we might as well get it over with."

Fuliciana sighed and laid her head in her arms on the stone. She knew that no matter what she said, Galahad would say something that would be, ultimately, more sensible.

"I want you, Bors, Gawain, and Silarion." She said lowly, not looking up at him. "Trabahn, and Vilensia. Guinevere. Get Scarali as well. I want them all at the Round Table. Make sure Arthur knows nothing of this. He cannot know we are leaving."

"Why?" Galahad asked curiously.

"Because I know Arthur, and I don't want to risk him doing something completely stupid that he thinks is going to help us."

Galahad almost smiled, but it came out as more of a half-hearted smirk than an actual smile. But he nodded and moved off quickly, understanding the need for haste.

* * *

It was only several minutes later when they all sat together at the table. Everyone's eyes were on Fuliciana, as she looked down at the map at the table, calculating the distance and how long it would take and so on.

"This is dangerous," she said slowly. Everyone in the room shifted in their seats. That was the first word she had said since they entered. They had been wondering if she was ever going to speak. "Very dangerous. Several of you may not return."

She looked pointedly at Vilensia. The girl frowned indignantly. Trabahn just shrugged.

"Nothing that we have not faced before, lady," he said politely. Fuliciana nodded.

"I just want to make sure that you are still set on going, Vilensia."

"Completely," Vilensia replied.

"Fine," Fuliciana said with no emotion whatsoever. "Now. Here's the plan. We all ride out to the part of the wall which my people used to use for raids. Just us and a few choice archers. We scale the wall and then creep back to the sentries. We kill them and use Scarali's tracking skills to help us find the Saxon camp. This is where the toughest part is."

"You mean trooping through the woods to find Saxon sentries whose numbers we do not know, then searching through an innumerable amount of space for a Saxon camp which is probably very well hidden, all without being detected isn't the hardest part?" Bors asked sarcastically. Fuliciana just shot him a look and continued.

"After we find the camp we split up," she said. "Bors, Galahad, Gawain, and Silarion, you are going to run out of the woods as if it is an ambush and run around screaming and yelling and making as much noise as possible. You will be attacked, which will give the rest of us an easier time of finding Lancelot. That will be Guinevere, Trabahn, Scarali, Vilensia, and myself. Once we find Lancelot, the archers will start firing from the trees. That will be your sign to retreat. Is everything clear?"

"I think it's bloody insane," Bors muttered. No one listened.

"I think it's the best plan we've got," Gawain said. "It could work."

"I agree," Galahad said, nodding slowly. "But we have to make certain that _everyone _does their job to _perfection_. One wrong step…and we could all end up dead."

No one needed to hear that to know it. It was on all of their minds. They knew the consequences. The moment the plan was out of Fuliciana's mouth, every one of them knew that their lives, and Lancelot's life, were at stake.

"We should go as soon as possible," Fuliciana said slowly. Everyone nodded. "All of you get ready for battle. Prepare and meet in the stables."

With that, everyone went their separate ways. Galahad, Gawain, and a reluctant Trabahn went off to find Trabahn some good daggers. Bors wandered off to find Vanora. Scarali and Silarion moved off together towards the tavern. Finally, only Guinevere, Fuliciana, and Vilensia were left. Vilensia looked uncomfortable.

"I do not have a sword," she said with a pride that Fuliciana would have admired if she didn't have such negative feelings for the girl.

"We will give you one," Guinevere said, sensing that it was probably best that she handle the problem rather than having Fuliciana turn it into an argument. Of course, the good sense didn't last long, as she was impatient and had many things to do. "Go with Fuliciana. She will get you one."

Fuliciana barely suppressed a glare that she longed to shoot in Guinevere's direction. As it was, she was quivering with anger. Vilensia actually looked slightly frightened. Guinevere, unsurprisingly, was completely oblivious to the hostility, and she hurried out of the room before anyone could say anything.

For a few agonizingly long moments, Fuliciana and Vilensia stood there in an awkward silence, staring at one another. Then, Fuliciana broke the silence.

"Come," she said simply, turning and walking towards the door on the opposite side of the room, which led to the hallway, and the door to the weapons room.

"Wait," Vilensia said suddenly. Fuliciana stopped with her hand on the door, turning to look back at the girl with confusion and impatience written on her features.

"We have no time," she said, her voice tight with the effort of keeping it emotionless.

"We have enough time for me to apologize for earlier," Vilensia replied. "I had no right to assume…to act like that."

"No, you didn't," Fuliciana replied. If Vilensia was expecting anything different, she didn't show it. She just nodded and shrugged as if to say 'I deserved that'.

"I wanted to apologize," she said instead. Fuliciana gave her a look as if not quite understanding what the girl was saying.

"Fine," she said. "Apology accepted."

Vilensia looked at her with surprise; probably for the bitter tone in her voice, but Fuliciana didn't miss a beat. She threw open the door and started down the hall without another backward glance. Vilensia, after a shocked and surprised silence, followed after her.

They entered the weapon room, and Fuliciana pointed to a rack of dirty swords on the other side of the room.

"Pick one," she said simply. "Do you know how to use one?"

"Yes," Vilensia retorted indignantly. "You forget that I am a woman of Sarmatia, lady."

Fuliciana rolled her eyes.

"You forget that I am a woman of Briton," she replied. "We are very mistrusting of foreigners."

"And yet you love my brother?"

"Your brother is not a foreigner," Fuliciana retorted. "His blood is tied to this soil as deeply as mine is."

Vilensia had nothing to say to that. She just walked up to the rack of swords and picked one up. She was holding it so awkwardly that Fuliciana could not suppress a frown and a slight shake of the head. Vilensia tried to put the sword down lightly, but it clanged on the ground angrily. Fuliciana would have smiled if she hadn't been in such a hurry.

"You continue with this," Fuliciana replied. "I have to get ready."

She stalked out of the room in a huff, leaving the younger woman behind.

* * *

Lancelot shifted uncomfortably. Another night of heavy beating and interrogation by Cyrlic had ended with him tied to a post in the tent with an empty stomach and painful bruises covering his body. He took very little satisfaction in the fact that he had not spoken a single word about the wall and its defenses. The only time he had opened his mouth was to spit directly into Crylic's face. That had gotten him a black eye, but the look on Cyrlic's face was worth it.

He wondered often, when sitting silently during the long hours of being alone in his prison, what the others were doing. He wondered most about Fuliciana. He knew that she would be greatly grieved, but what he wondered was whether or not she actually showed her grief, or if she simply hid it until she was alone. He also wondered the same about Arthur. It frightened him, sometimes, that he could die and they would never know about it.

But what else was there to think of? Sometimes he would sit and think about Fuliciana for hours upon end. That usually took his mind off of the present danger, though eventually he would remind himself that he would never see her again, and his somewhat happy mood would be completely gone. Other times, he thought of the knights and their fifteen years of service, but that always came to the same end result.

Most often he just sat there and wondered if they were going to look for him. He didn't know if they were going to even try, or if they were just going to leave him in the clutches of the Saxon beasts. And that frightened him most of all.

* * *

Everyone was ready. Guinevere, Fuliciana, and Scarali were dressed in their Woad battle garb, while the Sarmatians wore their leather. Vilensia wore a simple riding dress, with her hair tied up messily. Arthur was nowhere to be found, but they had no time to go and look for him. They had to leave as soon as possible.

Fuliciana stood in front of the rest, her hand on Trista's neck. They all watched her, standing there with so much pain written on her features, and they took strength from her. They took strength from the fact that she was doing this; leading them when she had so much to lose. She was doing something that they probably wouldn't be able to do if they were in the same position as she, and that was something that they looked up to.

"Remember your positions?" she asked, though she knew that the question was not needed. They knew what they were doing. She had checked with them so many times, and had made them repeated back to her their exact movements that if they had not known it, then they would have had to have been drunk or a fool. "Please remember that this is…possibly the most important thing that any of you have ever done, to me."

She looked around at all of them, finding all of their eyes with an equal amount of compassion. Everyone nodded back at her, knowing that it was true. That no amount of words could equal the deed they were about to perform for her. They all knew it, and they all felt the desire to complete this task to such perfection that Fuliciana's smile would be brighter than the sun. The love between the two was such that it was impossible to not feel the pain that Fuliciana was feeling. Anyone who had ever thought they knew love would understand.

And everyone did. As they mounted their horses and prepared to ride out, every single one of them said a silent prayer to whatever gods that were listening. They prayed for Lancelot, and for Fuliciana, and for their love and for all love.

* * *

And if they had been able to see Arthur, pacing in his room with his eyes wild and streaked with tears, then they would have prayed for him as well, because they would have known that there was nothing in the world that could have killed him inside more. 


	25. The Rescue

Okay, well, that took a while, and I apologize. I have been rather busy lately, but I'm going to be un-busy very soon, haha.

So, here's the chapter. There's going to be a little vote at the end. But don't read it yet, because it will spoil the ending of the chapter! And I know you don't want that!

Okay, so thanks for those of you who reviewed, and please review again. It only takes like…two seconds, and it means the WORLD to me. So thank you much! Enjoy!

Boone:(

Sorry. Had to!

* * *

**Chapter 24: **The Rescue

At sunset, they reached the point in the wall where they were set to climb over. Their horses were tethered to trees and left for the Woad scouts to bring back in the morning if the mission was successful…or if the mission failed miserably.

Fuliciana was first to start the ascent of the tree beside the wall. It was a dangerous climb, but she had done it many times before, and once again she did it without trouble. Galahad was next, helped at the top by Fuliciana, and then Galahad. Bors required the help of both Fuliciana and Scarali. Everyone else managed to get to the top rather quickly, and then they all stood there, balancing precariously, as they looked at the ground below.

Bors was starting to look dizzy, so Fuliciana climbed skillfully over to the tree that they were to descend, and she suggested that he go first. Surprisingly, he climbed down smoothly and swiftly; most likely because he was so anxious to get down.

After they were all safely down on the ground, they started off silently through the forest. Scarali went ahead to scout, naturally. Everyone else just walked slowly and waited for him.

It didn't take long. After several moments, Scarali returned, waving to where he had just come from.

"There are at least ten up ahead," he said. "A decoy army. If they are attacked, then the others will know and will alert the leader."

Fuliciana nodded slowly.

"What do you suggest?" she asked lowly. "Should we fight them and try to do it quietly, or should we go around them?"

Scarali shrugged.

"Either way could be fatal," he said. "I'd suggest neither but apparently that's not one of our options. Though, if I were to pick the lesser of two evils, I would have to say going around and trying to knock out all the sentries first. But remember…if we miss _just one_, the plan could be ruined."

Fuliciana nodded. She knew the stakes. She, of all people, did not need to be told the stakes.

"Then we will avoid them," she said, biting her lip slightly. Bors looked disappointed that he wasn't going to fight. Vilensia was as white as a ghost.

They started moving forward once again, slow and cautious as they moved past the army, trying not to let the sound of their movements travel to Saxon ears. It wasn't incredibly hard to do, considering that all ten of the Saxons were laughing and talking loudly. They seemed drunk.

The rescue group was able to sneak past them effectively, and they were able to spot their first sentry. He was asleep, sitting below a tree with a bottle of ale in his hand. Scarali ever so gently slipped a knife between his ribs. Anyone who looked would not have seen the difference.

The second sentry was sleeping as well. After killing him and moving on to find another, Scarali deduced that killing them all was senseless, for they were _all_ sleeping.

"We should just move on and find the main army…" he started, when suddenly they heard a twig cracking from over to their left. Everyone raised their weapons, ready to defend, but then realized that the person was moving away from them; into the trees.

"Perhaps they are going to the army," Gawain said with some excitement.

"And maybe they're just going to take a piss," Bors retorted. "We don't _know_."

"I think he's going to the main camp," Scarali said, listening carefully to the beast's retreating footsteps. "He hasn't stopped yet."

"Let's follow him," Fuliciana said firmly. Scarali nodded, and then they started off.

* * *

Gawain was right. The Saxon was frustrated with the lack of seriousness that the sentries were showing, and was going to complain that they were all sleeping. Unfortunately for him, he soon joined his comrades after a swift caress across the throat from Scarali's dagger put _him _to sleep.

"There they are," Galahad said, pointing to several fires that were burning nearby.

"There's the leader," Fuliciana said, pointing with a grimace. She would know that face anywhere, especially since he looked so much like his brother.

"Is everyone ready?" Silarion asked, gripping his sword tightly.

"Surround them," Scarali suggested. "Make it look as though there is more of you."

Galahad and Gawain both moved off, and Bors moved in the opposite direction. Silarion stayed where he was, and the Woad archers moved into the trees, hiding themselves in the foliage. After several moments, all three archers fired; killing three separate Saxons, and the four knights burst from the trees, yelling furiously.

Fuliciana took up the cry, and Guinevere followed her example. Scarali wasn't far behind. Right after him, Trabahn began yelling as well, adding to the noise. Vilensia was last to join; reluctantly.

Thinking that an army attacked them, the Saxons flew into panic; hacking at anything that moved. The darkness and flickering shadows from the firelight added to the confusion, and soon Saxons were fighting Saxons all over the camp. The few Saxons that found themselves actually fighting the real enemy were quickly killed, and then the knights moved on to the next victim, smooth and fluid-like.

The second group moved out. Fuliciana, Guinevere, Scarali, Trabahn, and Vilensia all crept towards the camp quietly, swords drawn. Guinevere and Scarali moved silently into one tent, while Trabahn stood guard outside. Fuliciana and Vilensia went inside the second, but there was nothing there.

The other tents were practically across the encampment. Fuliciana stood peering out of the tent flap, looking at the chaos outside. The tent seemed to…glow almost, like a beacon lighting her way to Lancelot.

"We have to go across that," she said.

"Why don't we go around?" Vilensia asked. Fuliciana turned to look at her.

"You're right," she said. "You go around. I'm going through."

She didn't stop to listen to Vilensia's pleas, which she knew were soon to come. She just ran out into the confusion, determination written on her features. If any of the Saxons even noticed her pushing through the crowd, they were swiftly punished for their noticing by a short stab and a shove.

The sprint through the crowd was easier than Fuliciana expected it to be, and she soon found herself in front of the tent. She started to pull open the flap, when suddenly someone tackled her and pulled her away. She screamed with fury and spun around, trying to ride herself of the Saxon leach.

She managed to turn her head enough to see that her attacker was none other than Cyrlic. Suddenly unbelievably furious, she reached her hand back and clawed at him with her fingernails; barely hearing his scream of pain.

Suddenly, she saw another Saxon looming out of the darkness; charging right for them. He lunged out and stabbed Cyrlic through the stomach, yelling with fury. In the confusion, he didn't realize that he had just killed his commander, and just moved on to kill someone else, bloodlust in his eyes.

Cyrlic fell to the ground, his arms falling away from Fuliciana. She ducked down and grabbed her sword, thanking the Gods for the stupidity of the beastly Saxon. Then, she roughly kicked aside Cyrlic's body and stumbled into the tent, gasping for breath.

* * *

Lancelot swam in and out of dreams and memories. There were times when he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not, or if he had been freed and was reliving his life. But eventually, the pain would come back to him and he would realize that he was where he had been for the past days. Or was it weeks? It could have been months, or even years. The thought that he _just didn't know_ filled him with fear.

But then he heard something. Shouting. The smell of something burning filled his nostrils. Yelling. Screaming. Was that a woman? It might have been. The Saxons had an ample supply. It was nothing new to hear the scream of a new woman. After a while they just lost the fight…

But that wasn't a woman being raped. That was…a woman fighting. His head came up at he recognized the battle cry. But no. It couldn't be. Though…there did seem to be an awful lot of yelling.

Suddenly, he realized that there was someone else in the tent with him, and someone screamed his name. He couldn't open his swollen eyes, but he was sure that he knew that voice. He just didn't know exactly who it was at the moment.

"Lancelot? Lancelot, oh Gods!"

Someone's arms wrapped themselves around his head, and he found himself being cradled like a small child as his bonds were cut and his hands were finally freed. He sagged into his savior's arms, head lolling as he tried to gather the strength that it took to open his eyes. But he couldn't. He couldn't move.

Someone was kissing his forehead and rocking him back and forth. Fuliciana? He strained to open his eyes. If he was going to die, then he wanted her to be the last thing he was going to see.

But that didn't matter, he told himself. He wasn't _going _to die. He was going to make it. For her and for Arthur. He _had _to make it. So he forced his eyes open and sat up, barely even hissing in pain as the adrenaline surged through him.

"Fuliciana," he gasped out, lower lip trembling with the effort of remaining calm. She flung her arms around him, sobbing and holding him close to her like she would a child.

"I thought I had lost you forever," she whispered, gently planting a kiss on both of his cheeks. "I thought you were gone."

"Never," he said hoarsely. "Never."

* * *

Vilensia tore into the tent, out of breath and panting heavily, only to see Fuliciana kneeling on the ground, with Lancelot in her arms.

"Oh Gods," she whispered. "Is he…?"

"No," Fuliciana said with a happy laugh. "No. He's alive."

"Thank the Gods!" Vilensia exclaimed, letting out a huge sigh of relief.

"We have to get him out of here," Fuliciana said suddenly. "We're not safe yet."

She stood, heaving Lancelot to his feet as well. He looked like he was fairly steady, but Fuliciana supported him anyways, knowing that he could collapse at any moment, and would do so without warning. Vilensia just stood staring at him as if she wasn't quite sure she was seeing him.

"We should go out the back," Fuliciana said, starting to walk towards the back of the tent, practically dragging Lancelot after her. His legs didn't seem to be working.

Without a word, she passed Lancelot onto Vilensia, and then took out her sword again, slicing through the tent, making a flap.

"We have to hurry," Vilensia said impatiently. Fuliciana nodded, not in the mood to tell the girl that she was going as fast as she can, and took Lancelot again.

"Come," she said simply. They found themselves out in the darkness, with the shouts and the screams behind them. Once again, Fuliciana passed Lancelot onto Vilensia, but he seemed to be walking better.

"You take him and move that way," she said, pointing directly in front of herself. "We don't want to risk you being caught by the sentries. Keep going no matter what and don't turn back. Don't turn back for anything. When you get there, there will be a group of Woads waiting to help you and Lancelot over the wall. Go to the castle. If we are not back by daybreak, then send the whole army."

Vilensia nodded with fright.

"Where are you going?" she asked, obviously not comfortable with having as much responsibility as Fuliciana was heaping onto her shoulders.

"I have to tell the archers to fire into the battle, to signal the retreat."

"Look out for Trabahn," blurted Vilensia. "Please."

"I will," Fuliciana said kindly, overcome with tenderness for this poor girl. She gently kissed Lancelot's blood-caked lips, and then signaled Vilensia to go. Lancelot didn't seem to realize what was going on, and he stumbled along almost drunkenly, as Vilensia struggled to hurry.

* * *

Trabahn had been searching for Vilensia for what seemed like the entire night, but she was nowhere to be found. He tried to keep in the shadows, away from the battle, like Guinevere had told him, but he found his eyes lured to it. What if she was in there? What if she had happened to wander into it and had gotten herself killed? He didn't think a peek would hurt.

He looked around the corner of the tent, eyes roaming the battle for a flash of golden hair. But there was none to be found. Suddenly, he saw her, dashing into one of the tents. He started to run across the open camp to her, but was suddenly thrown back as a Saxon appeared out of nowhere, swinging his sword. He tried to cry out, but his vision was failing. The last thing he saw before the world faded to black was the mean smirk of the Saxon as he laughed to himself and ran in the opposite direction; the poor boy from Sarmatia forgotten.

* * *

Voting time! (I know…I'm completely incapable of making my own decisions )

So…do you want Trabahn to live or die? Please vote, because your vote counts!


	26. Scattered

Here we are! Chapter 25 at last. I think at most there will be two more chapters, maybe three. I'm almost at the end! That's extremely satisfying but very sad! I'm gonna miss all my reviewers who I looovveee!

So…enjoy! And you know the drill. Reviews are VERY appreciated. Thank you for all of you who DID review.

* * *

**Chapter 25: **Scattered

Fuliciana ran through the trees wildly, not caring that the brush tore at her legs, leaving bloody trails behind her. She had to reach the archers before the fight was too far gone to be ended quickly.

But the archers were forgotten when she saw a sight that made her stop in her tracks and made her blood run cold. Trabahn lay on the ground, a pool of blood surrounding him. Cursing under her breath, she looked across the clearing to where the archers sat in the trees, waiting for her signal.

"Calatora!" she screamed as loud as she could over the sounds of battle. Unbelievably, the man heard her, and turned towards her with surprise written on her face. "Now!"

As the three archers raised their bows and began to fire rapidly into the fray, Fuliciana sprinted to Trabahn. He was still alive, and was shivering with cold.

"Trabahn?" she said slowly, trying to stay calm. "Trabahn, can you hear me."

The boy didn't respond, but just groaned and grimaced in pain. The archers were still firing, and Fuliciana knew that she had to get hidden in the woods, but there was no chance that she was going to leave the poor boy there.

Thankfully, she didn't have to make that decision. Galahad appeared at her side suddenly, looking horrified.

"Trabahn," he breathed with terror.

"Take him," Fuliciana gasped. "Hurry!"

Galahad nodded and pulled the boy over his shoulder, stumbling for a few moments under the weight before he finally found his balance. Before Fuliciana could say another word to him, he was gone into the trees, away from the chaos under the cover of steady arrow fire. Fuliciana looked around for anyone who might be near but she couldn't see anything in the smoke that the wind was just starting to blow in her direction.

She knew that she had to leave. As reluctant as she was to leave the battlefield without knowing everyone's position, she knew that she had to go. It would be the death of her if she didn't, and the point of a rescue mission was to save, not to lose.

She started off into the woods where she had seen Galahad going, but a large Saxon, presumably more intelligent than the rest (for he had found her when none of the others had bothered to stop fighting on another), cut her off with a fierce snarl. Fuliciana screamed and lunged at him, but he blocked her thrust with his own, shoving her backwards. She managed to keep her balance, and she lunged again, this time aiming low. He just sliced his sword across her shoulder, narrowly missing her scar from Badon Hill. She grimaced and just stepped back for a moment, resting for a split-second that appeared to make all the difference.

When the Saxon lunged again, Fuliciana was ready. She reached up her unwounded arm and stabbed him through the stomach. He managed to get a long, bloody scratch on her leg, but when he fell down to the ground shortly after, he didn't get up. She honestly didn't care if he was alive or just faking, because she had to get out of there. If he was faking…all the more power to him.

She ran through the woods, not letting herself be tired out by the wounds on her that were rapidly losing blood. She couldn't allow that. She had to get back…

* * *

The Saxons charged into the woods after the Woad woman, after discovering that there was not one of the enemy among them, and that they were fighting themselves. They had no time to look for their leader, but took off in hot pursuit, growling and screaming in their native tongue.

There were thirty of them out of the one hundred that had been at their camp before the attack. There was an untold number wounded, and an untold number dead. The only thing on their minds was revenge. Revenge for their friends who had fallen…revenge for their army, twice slain by a handful of knights.

The woman was in sight. She was running, as if she thought she had a chance to get away. She looked behind her, and her mouth opened in horror. She was beautiful, that woman. She could be put to better uses than running.

* * *

They were gaining on her. She had to get out of the woods and into the open before it was too late. The only problem was that she didn't even know if she was going the right way. She was too disoriented when she had started into the woods to see if she was even going the right way.

That thought sent her on a panic. What if she _wasn't _going the right way? She turned and looked behind her, and saw that there was a horde of the beasts chasing her. She screamed and willed herself to move faster. She just had to get out into the open. That was all she needed to do…

Suddenly, she heard a fierce yell from behind her, and turned just in time to see Granort burst out of the woods, screaming furiously, with about a dozen Woads behind him.

"Father!" Fuliciana gasped, sliding to a stop.

"Run!" Granort yelled as she charged into the battle. "Go!"

Fuliciana was torn. She knew that she had to leave. She was losing blood fast and wouldn't last long in a fight. But, on the other hand, her father and some of her people were facing off with the Saxons, who, bloodthirsty and ready for killing, had a decided advantage.

But what help would she be? With that in mind, she turned and ran again, trying to ignore the fact that she felt tired and dizzy. She pushed herself harder and harder until she could no longer hear the noises of battle behind her.

Without warning, she burst into the open, out of the trees. She was standing in the same place where Lancelot had first been captured, facing the wall. She felt tears in her eyes and she allowed a small sob to escape her.

She turned back and listened, but there were no sounds of pursuit. Still, she decided that it would be best for her to get to the wall as quickly as possible.

* * *

Vilensia reined in her horse and dismounted quickly as the Woads carried Lancelot into the castle in front of them. They did not bother to wait for her, nor did they ask her the whereabouts of any of the others. Apparently, Vilensia and Lancelot returning on their own was all part of the plan, otherwise they most certainly would have asked.

She didn't know where she was expected to go, but thankfully Arthur appeared and put an end to her worries.

"Come with me," he said hurriedly, with only a little firmness. She followed him obediently, clutching her torn skirts around her to hurry her steps. When they were into the Great Hall, he slowly shut the door and then turned to face her with an urgent expression. "What happened?"

"Why did we have to come in here to speak of it?" Vilensia asked irritably, forgetting for a moment who she was talking to. Arthur didn't get mad like she expected him to. Perhaps he understood that she was still slightly rattled from the rescue mission. Perhaps he was just as rattled and didn't notice the annoyance in her voice.

"I did not want anyone else to hear," Arthur said offhand. Vilensia wondered who exactly he didn't want to hear. "What happened?"

"Fuliciana found Lancelot," Vilensia replied, remembering back to those frantic moments at the Saxon camp. It seemed like a bad dream to her, and the memories of it were slowly coming back to her. "He was in one of the tents…we went out the back and she gave him to me and told me to run as fast as I could to the wall, where there would be Woads to help me over. She ran in the opposite direction. I…I can't remember why. But I did what she told me. I ran, and I reached the wall very quickly."

"Yes, you did very good," Arthur said, smiling sadly. "Thank you. Um…just one more thing. Did you see Guinevere?"

Vilensia thought back. She did remember seeing the other woman once or twice, but she looked so much like Fuliciana in her identical battle outfit…it was impossible to tell the two apart from a distance.

"I can't remember," she said softly. "I know I remember her fighting at one point… but I don't know…"

She trailed off, her brow furrowing as she desperately tried to think. Arthur reached out and clasped her shoulder comfortingly.

"In the haze of battle, one forgets many things," he said, trying to sound comforting, but not able to mask the nervousness in his own voice. Vilensia hung her head slightly, ashamed. She wished that she had paid more attention to detail… "I'm going to visit Lancelot now. Do you want to accompany me?"

Something made Vilensia refuse his offer with a quiet shake of her head. He seemed to understand why she did not want to go, though she wasn't completely sure of the reason herself, and he moved out of the room almost silently, closing the door behind him.

She looked around the table; trying to imagine all the boys she had seen leaving the village sixteen years before. She could only, however, see empty cold seats, with no fire lit in the center and no food laid out to eat. She could only see the desolation. She could only sense the emptiness conveyed by the sight. She could only think of how the many boys who had once occupied those chairs now lay underground with their fathers in a foreign land that they had learned to hate.

But Lancelot had made it. Lancelot had lived when all those others had died. But he had not hastened back to his homeland, leaving behind those fifteen years of servitude. He had remained there, in Britain, with a Roman commander as his friend. Some of her people, in fact, most, would probably say that that was a fate worse than death itself, but as Vilensa stood there, staring at those empty seats representing the dead, she finally understood.

She finally understood what she had not been able to comprehend since she first discovered that Lancelot was still living. She understood why he stayed in Britain. Because Vilensia wasn't family to him anymore by anything more than blood. She was just a golden-haired memory who he used to roll around in the grass with, fighting over silly things. Perhaps in the beginning her memory made him live, made him fight. But then, as time wore on, he began to find other things to live for. He found Arthur and Galahad and Gawain and Bors and other knights, long dead, who connected with him and his longing for home. Because of their mutual longing, they made sort of a home together. And Arthur, their commander, was at the center, at the heart. He was their reason for living. He was their reason for fighting. She was no longer first in his heart.

And then came Fuliciana. Vilensia could only imagine Lancelot's wonder when he first laid eyes upon the beautiful woman. Any man could fall into those eyes, but Lancelot had fallen deep enough that Fuliciana had fallen with him. Any wishes that Lancelot had to return to Vilensia and his family vanished. Her memory was no longer needed to get him by, because he had someone right in front of him who was worth so much more.

She finally knew. She finally understood, and could no longer be mad at her dear brother for staying behind when she and her mother worried for him so. She understood because she knew that if she had been faced with the same situation, then she would have followed the same path that he took. She would have remained behind.

With this new understanding in mind, she set out towards the wall.

* * *

Galahad reached the wall finally, gasping for breath. He had run the entire way to the wall, carrying Trabahn over his shoulder. He had not stopped once; not for anything, but now was beginning to feel the effects. He was even slightly dizzy.

He dimly remembered the door to the wall opening, and someone shouting at him, but he didn't bother to listen. He just started running again, towards the castle, gathering breath so he would have enough to shout at the healers to come to him.

"Trabahn!" screamed a woman from in front of him, who he could not see in the darkness. As she ran towards him, hands covering her mouth with horror, Galahad could see that it was Vilensia.

"We have to get him to a healer," Galahad gasped. Vilensia nodded and did the shouting for him, calling for healers with the utmost urgency. Several men came and took his brother's limp body from his arms. He could have sworn he heard one man say that the wound was fatal. He looked to Vilensia, and she looked stricken. Before he could say anything to try and comfort her, she collapsed to the ground.

* * *

Guinevere was going mad looking for Fuliciana in the trees. She had not seen her sister since very early in the battle. She did not want to risk her being left behind, wounded and unable to defend herself. Gawain and Bors were with her, though they complained incessantly about it.

Their complaining was swiftly silenced, however, when they heard the clang of metal-upon-metal up ahead. Exchanging glances, they all crept forward, peering through the trees to see who was involved.

Guinevere saw the flashes of blue skin and knew that her people were there, but was Fuliciana? She did not wait to see what the knights wished to do, but just ran out into the battle, screaming.

As she joined the fight, whirling her sword furiously, she kept her eyes out for her sister. Gawain and Bors joined her, and she yelled at them to look as well.

"She's wounded," came a chilling voice from over to her left. She whirled around with surprise, gasping when she saw her father standing behind her. "But she's alive."

"Father…" Guinevere said slowly, shaking her head. "I thought you were captured, dead…"

"I was taken," Granort said with an empty laugh. "But I escaped."

Ironically, it was directly after his last words that a sword was shoved through his back.


	27. The End

Last chapter! Oh my gosh! I can't believe it! This is the end!

Ahhhhh! I'm so excited right now, but also very sad that I'm leaving behind Fuliciana and Lancelot and everyone else. Oh well, I guess there's a time in everyone's life when you just have to move on and let them go their own way.

Please review! Even if you haven't done so before, at least do it for the last chapter! Please! Pretty please! I'd love you FOREVER!

Thanks and much love to all my reviewers! I write this story for you, remember!

* * *

**Chapter 26: **The End

Lancelot awoke in his bed, surrounded by white blankets and candlelight. He heard someone breathing beside his bed and saw Arthur sitting there, head in his hands. He didn't notice that Lancelot was awake.

"What's wrong?" Lancelot asked him. Arthur gave a little jolt of surprise and looked at Lancelot with shock written on his face.

"You're awake!" he exclaimed. "Impossible! It's barely been an hour!"

"My wounds weren't all that bad," Lancelot laughed. "Nothing a soft bed can't fix."

"I'm really beginning to think that it is impossible for you to die," Arthur said wondrously, shaking his head. "How do you survive conditions like that? How do you not have the slightest bit of infection?"

"Because I am me," Lancelot said with a laugh. "And I'm going to be at your side until we're both old and gray, whether you like it or not."

Arthur smiled at his friend and shook his head with a small laugh.

"I haven't decided how I feel about that," he said. "But I'm glad you're here now."

"How's Fuliciana?" Lancelot asked nervously. "I remember seeing her…"

"She is being tended to right now," Arthur replied. "She has a few wounds, but nothing too grievous."

Lancelot heaved a sigh of relief.

"I remembered her running into the battle," he said. "I was afraid that she hadn't survived it."

Arthur nodded his head distractedly. Lancelot could see that something was wrong, and tilted his head to one side in question. Arthur sighed.

"Your sister is here," he said, as if Lancelot was forcefully draggingthe question out of him. "She came the day you were kidnapped."

"What?" Lancelot asked breathlessly. "Vilensia?"

"Yes," Arthur replied. "Galahad's brother came as well. Trabahn."

"Gods," Lancelot exhaled, slumping back against the pillow. "Here? Where is she?"

"Trabahn was injured as well," Arthur said. "Badly. The healers are working with him right now, and Vilensia is waiting."

Lancelot stared at the ceiling, eyes wide.

"She wants me to return home with her, doesn't she?"

"I believe so…" Arthur said, biting his lip slightly.

"I can't do that," Lancelot said quickly, hardly even waiting before the words were out of Arthur's mouth. "I can't go back."

Arthur was silent. He had known that his friend was going to say something along those lines, but he still wasn't sure why he was saying them.

"If you go…I won't blame you," he said quietly. "I would understand."

"But I wouldn't," Lancelot replied. "I have too much here. My life is here, my blood is here. Everything I've ever wanted is right here, with me in Britain. If I left…I would be leaving my whole life behind. I'm not going."

Arthur nodded respectfully. Though he felt sorry for poor Vilensia and Lancelot's mother, he couldn't say that he was sorry Lancelot was staying.

* * *

Guinevere, Galahad, Gawain, Bors, and a handful of Woads reached the castle when dawn was almost breaking, bearing Granort's body, and the bodies of their fallen comrades. The guards on the wall sent out the news that they were alive and well, and there was rejoicing all throughout the castle.

Guinevere went straight to Fuliciana's room to tell her the news. Her sister was just getting out of bed, against the healer's orders, of course, to go see Lancelot.

"Guinevere!" she exclaimed happily, hugging her. "Why, you don't look injured at all! I was worried for you, and you've barely got a scratch on you!"

Guinevere smiled, but her heart wasn't behind it, and she knew that her sister would pick up on it right away. She did.

"What's wrong?" she asked with growing panic. "Did we lose someone?"

Fuliciana waited for the answer. Was it Gawain? Or Bors? Or Galahad?

"Father," Guinevere said instead. Fuliciana took half-a-step back involuntarily as the news hit her. She stared at Guinevere, trying to form words.

"I…what? Father?" she asked. "He…"

"He was talking to me, being cocky, and a Saxon killed him from behind," Guinevere said with very little emotion. "He was dead by the time he hit the ground."

Fuliciana nodded slowly.

"I feel horrible for saying this, but I'm glad it was him and not anyone else who could have been lost," she said quietly. "Out of anyone…I'm glad it was him."

"I know," Guinevere said just as softly. "Believe me, I know."

* * *

"Can I see him now?"

Vilensia bit her lip and looked at the healer pleadingly. The man considered for a moment and then nodded.

"Yes," he said slowly. "But please do not try to make him too excited or agitated."

"Is he all right?" Vilensia asked nervously. "Is he going to make it?"

"As far as I can tell…yes," the healer replied with a smile. "He should be fine in several weeks, as long as he receives the proper care."

"Thank you," Vilensia said, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. The healer bowed and nodded and started down the hallway. Vilensia waited until he was out of fight before she turned and hurried into the room, closing it gently behind her.

Trabahn was lying in bed, eyes closed and skin pale despite the flickering flame from the candle beside him. When he heard her enter, his eyes cracked open, and he smiled.

"I knew you'd be the first one in here," he whispered. "I heard you yelling at the healers earlier."

"They wouldn't let me in to see you," Vilensia said abashedly. Trabahn gave a ghost of a laugh.

"Just because I wasn't there to keep you calm, it doesn't mean you can just lose your head," he said scoldingly. Vilensia laughed and took a seat beside him, taking his hand and gently rubbing her thumb over the back of it.

"The healer said you should be fine," she said conversationally.

"How did I get back here?" Trabahn asked. "I don't remember walking…"

"You weren't in any condition to walk," scoffed Vilensia. "Galahad carried you back."

"Oh," Trabahn said, sounding slightly disoriented.

"Are you all right?" Vilensia asked him worriedly.

"I'm fine," Trabahn responded sleepily. "I'm just…tired. That's all."

"You should sleep, then," Vilensia replied. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Trabahn nodded, mumbling something that Vilensia didn't catch. Then, his eyes slowly slid closed.

* * *

Fuliciana crept into Lancelot's room quietly, listening to the low murmur of he and Arthur's conversation. When they sensed her presence, they stopped talking, and both looked over to where she stood, smiling at them. When the saw who it was, they both smiled in return, and then Arthur stood to go. Though neither Fuliciana nor Lancelot would have minded if he had stayed, they both knew that he would insist on leaving, so neither tried to stop him.

As soon as he was gone, Fuliciana sat down in the seat that Arthur had been sitting in moments before, and she took Lancelot's hand much in the same way that Vilensia had taken Trabahn's.

"I love you," she said gently. Lancelot smiled at her.

"I love you too," he replied. She leaned forward and kissed him gently.

"You have to stop scaring me like that," she said, giving him a warning look. "It really gets tiring."

"What if I like scaring you?" Lancelot asked teasingly. "It gets me all this good treatment later."

Fuliciana laughed and kissed him again.

"You're lucky I love you so much," she said, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Or else you _wouldn't _be getting all this good treatment."

"Should I be worried?" Lancelot asked, arching an eyebrow. Fuliciana just smiled. Then, Lancelot grew serious. "I heard about your father, Fuliciana."

Fuliciana bowed her head slightly, shrugging.

"He did not care for me much when he was alive," she said carefully. "I do not see why I should waste my time caring for him when he is dead."

"He did care for you," Lancelot said quietly. Fuliciana glanced at him in surprise.

"What?" she said.

"When I was captured…I was held with him. He worried for you."

Fuliciana frowned slightly and looked away.

"He didn't," she said coldly. "He never did. To him…I was nothing."

"That's not true," Lancelot said earnestly. "Fuliciana, you know I would be the last person to tell you that when it was not true. I, quite honestly, did not care for your father, but I do know that he cared for you. And though he may not have shown it well, I still believe you should grieve for him, just as he would grieve for you."

Fuliciana was silent for a long moment. After a long pause, Lancelot realized that she was crying. He reached up and gently wiped her tears away, smiling sadly at her.

"I never got to tell him that he hurt me," she whispered. "I never got to tell him that all those years of neglect hurt me far more than anything else ever could. I wanted…I wanted to know what he would say to that. I wanted him to be sorry. I just wanted him to love me like he loved Guinevere."

Lancelot smiled sadly and pulled her head down to rest against his chest.

"I know," he whispered. "I know. He loved you, Fuliciana. He loved you."

Fuliciana remembered how he had led the group of Woads into battle, yelling furiously. She remembered the desperation in his voice as he had yelled at her to run. She remembered the way he had looked at her, as if nothing in the world would make him happy ever again unless she ran. And then she knew. She knew that he did love her, even though he tried his best to hide that. And the thing that hurt Fuliciana the most was the fact that she would never find out why exactly he had never shown it.

* * *

An hour later, Fuliciana slept, while Lancelot lay awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking for a long while. He heard the door slowly creek open, and he turned to look towards the entrance.

"Hello, Lancelot," said an unfamiliar voice. He squinted, but could not make out more than just a dim outline. Then, she stepped out of the shadows. It was his sister. Older, yes, but it was her.

"Vilensia," he gasped, and she wrapped her arms around him in a firm embrace, careful of Fuliciana dozing in the chair, burying her head in his shoulder, crying.

"I never thought I would see you again," she whispered. "I thought you were dead. We thought you had died."

Lancelot held her close and cried with her, thanking the Gods that he was finally able to see Vilensia at last.

* * *

Fuliciana and Lancelot were married a month later, in the same spot where Arthur and Guinevere had been married almost a year before. Trabahn and Vilensia attended. That was to be their last day in Britain, before they left for home.

Though it was hardly appropriate to be calling it home. They weren't staying. Once they had gathered Lancelot's mother and Galahad's other brother, and anyone else who wanted to follow, they were going to Britain to live with Arthur and his people.

Bors and Vanora also finally married, much to the joy of the knights who had been waiting so long for it to happen, and the happy couple had another son to celebrate the occasion. They named him Granort, though Bors often complained that he didn't like the name, or the man who it originally belonged to.

And Arthur and Guinevere remained king and queen, with Lancelot and Fuliciana firmly by their sides, to rule over all the land with peace and happiness. And when Vilensia and Trabahn returned, they were married as well, making Galahad and Lancelot reluctant brothers.

Arthur's peace was finally found, and he proved to Lancelot at long last that there _could _be a world without pain, and that there was at least one spot on earth not reserved for a battlefield.

And for the first time in his life, Lancelot was glad to be proven wrong.

* * *

And there it is. Pease remember to review! Please, please, please, please, PLEASE!

Love for all,

MOI


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